University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

From  the  Bequest 

of 
GLADYS  TELDEN 


THE  MATCH  GAME. 

"Ifcnett  down,  and  laid  my  mallet  at  her  feet.    '  Beautiful  princes*!' 
*aidl,  'behold  yimrene-mie*,  conquered,  await  your  sentence.'  " 


(Pago  349 .; 


MY  WIFE  AND  I 


OB, 


HARRY    HENDERSON'S    HISTORY. 


BY 


HARRIET  BEECHER  STOWE, 

AUTHOR  or  "UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN,"  "PINK  AND  WHITE,"  ETC. 


NEW-YORK  : 
J.  B.  FORD   AND   COMPANY. 

1872. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1871 

BY  J.  B.  FORD  AXD  COMPANY, 

in  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


PREFACE 


|URTNfG  the  passage  of  this  story  through 
THE  CHRISTIAN  UNION,  it  has  "been  repeat- 
edly taken  for  granted  by  the  public  press 
that  certain  of  the  characters  are  designed  as  por- 
traits of  really  existing  individuals. 

They  are  not.  ,  The  supposition  has  its  rise  in  an 
imperfect  consideration  of  the  principles  of  dramatic 
composition.  The  novel-writer  does  not  profess  to 
paint  portraits  of  any  individual  men  and  women  in  his 
personal  acquaintance.  Certain  characters  are  required 
for  the  purposes  of  his  story.  He  conceives  and  cre- 
ates them,  and  they  become  to  him  real  living  be- 
ings, acting  and  speaking  in  ways  of  their  own.  But 
on  the  other  hand,  he  is  guided  in  this  creation  by 
his  knowledge  and  experience  of  men  and  women,  and 
studies  individual  instances  and  incidents  only  to  as- 
sure himself  of  the  possibility  and  probability  of  the 
character  he  creates.  If  he  succeeds  in  making  the 
character  real  and  natural,  people  often  are  led  to 
identify  it  with  some  individual  of  their  acquaintance. 
A  slight  incident,  an  anecdote,  a  paragraph  in  a  paper, 
often  furnishes  the  foundation  of  such  a  character ; 
and  the  work  of  drawing  it  is  like  the  process  by 
which  Professor  Agassiz  from  one  bone  reconstructs 
the  whole  form  of  an  unknown  iish.  But  to  apply  to 


iv  PREFACE. 

any  single  living  person  such  delineation  is  a  mistake, 
and  might  be  a  great  wrong  both  to  the  author  and  to 
the  person  designated. 

For  instance,  it  being  the  author's  purpose  to 
show  the  embarrassment  of  the  young  champion  of 
progressive  principles,  in  meeting  the  excesses  of 
modern  reformers,  it  came  in  her  way  to  paint  the 
picture  of  the  modern  emancipated  young  woman  of 
advanced  ideas  and  free  behavior.  And  this  charac- 
ter has  been  mistaken  for  the  portrait  of  an  indi- 
vidual^ drawn  from  actual  observation.  On  the  con- 
trary, it  was  not  the  author's  intention  to  draw 
an  individual,  but  simply  to  show  the  type  of  a 
class.  Facts  as  to  conduct  and  behavior  similar  to 
those  she  has  described  are  unhappily  too  familiar 
to  residents  of  New  York.  But  in  this  as  in  other 
cases  the  author  has  simply  used  isolated  facts  in 
the  construction  of  a  dramatic  character  suited  to 
the  design  of  the  story.  If  the  readers  of  to-day 
will  turn  back  to  Miss  Edgeworth's  Belinda,  they 
will  find  that  this  style  of  manners,  these  assumptions 
and  mode  of  asserting  them,  are  no  new  things.  In 
the  character  of  Harriet  Freke,  Miss  Edgeworth 
vividly  portrays  the  manners  and  sentiments  of  the 
modern  emancipated  women  of  our  times,  who  think 
themselves 

"  Ne'er  so  sure  our  passion  to  create, 
As  when  they  touch  the  brink  of  all  we  hate." 

Certainly  the  author  knows  no  original  fully  an- 
swering to  the  character  of  Mrs.  Cerulean,  though 
she  has  heard  such  an  one  described ;  and,  doubtless, 


PREFACE,  v 

there  are  traits  in  her  equally  attributable  to  all  fair 
enthusiasts  who  mistake  the  influence  of  their  own 
personal  charms  and  fascinations  over  the  other  sex, 
for  real  superiority  of  intellect. 

There  are  happily  several  young  women  whose  vig- 
orous self-sustaining  career,  in  opening  paths  of  use- 
fulness alike  for  themselves  and  others,  are  like  that 
of  Ida  Van  Arsdel ;  and  the  true  experiences  of  a 
lovely  New  York  girl  first  suggested  the  character 
of  Eva ;  yet  both  of  them  are,  in  execution,  strictly 
imaginary  paintings,  adapted  to  the  story.  In  short, 
some  real  character,  or,  in  many  cases,  some  two  or 
three,  furnish  the  germs,  but  the  germs  only,  out  of 
which  new  characters  are  developed. 

In  close :  The  author  wishes  to  dedicate  this  Story 
to  the  many  dear,  bright  young  girls  whom  she  is  so 
happy  as  to  number  among  her  choicest  friends.  No 
matter  what  the  critics  say  of  it,  if  they  like  it ;  and 
she  hopes  from  them,  at  least,  a  favorable  judgment. 

H.  B.  S. 

TWIN-MOUXTAIN  HOUSE,  N.H. 
October,  1871. 


C  ONTENTS: 


PAGE 

I.  THE  AUTHOB  DEFINES  HIS  POSITION      .          .  1 

II.  MY  CHILD-WIFE             .  5 

III.  OUB  CHILD-EDEN       .                     ...  17 

IV.  MY  SHADOW-WIFE          ....  32 
V.  I  START  FOB  COLLEGE           ....  43 

VI.  MY  DEE  AM- WIFE            ....  52 

VII.  THE  VALLEY  OF  HUMILIATION      ...  66 

VIII.  THE  BLUE  MISTS             ....  76 

IX.  AN  OUTLOOK  INTO  LIFE      ....  84 

X.  COUSIN  CAROLINE            ....  99 

XT.  WHY  DON'T  You  TAKE  HEK?       .          .          .113 

XII.  I  LAY  THE  FIRST  STONE  IN  MY  FOUNDATION  126 

XIII.  BACHELOR  CHAMBERS          ....  136 

XIV.  HAPS  AND  MISHAPS        ....  144 
XV.  I  MEET  A  VISION        .....  154 

XVI.  THE  GIRL  OF  OUR  PERIOD       ...  166 

XVII.  I  AM  INTRODUCED  INTO  SOCIETY  .           .          .  182 

XVIII.  THE  YOUNG  LADY  PHILOSOPHER      .           .  193 

XIX.  FLIRTATION  .  .  .          .          .204 

XX.  I  BECOME  A  FAMILY  FRIEND              .           .  216 

XXI.  I  DISCOVER  THE  BEAUTIES  OF  FRIENDSHIP     .  226 

XXII.  I  AM  INTRODUCED  TO  THE  ILLUMINATI.      .  234 

XXIII.  I  RECEIVE  A  MOBAL  SHOWEB-BATH       .           .  240 

XXIV.  AUNT  MABIA 247 

XXV.  A  DISCUSSION  OF  THE  WOMAN  QUESTION         .  257 

XXVI.  COUSIN  CABOLINE  AGAIN  272 


viii 


CONTENTS. 


» 

PAGE 

XXVII. 

EASTER  LILIES      ..... 

280 

XXVIII. 

ENCHANTMENT  AND  DISENCHANTMENT  . 

290 

XXIX. 

A  NEW  OPENING            .... 

307 

XXX. 

PERTURBATIONS         .... 

319 

XXXI. 

THE  FATES            ..... 

327 

XXXII. 

THE  GAME  OF  CROQUET     . 

336 

XXXIII. 

THE  MATCH  GAME         .... 

345 

XXXIV. 

LETTER  PROM  EVA  VAN  ARSDEL 

351 

XXXV. 

DOMESTIC  CONSULTATIONS 

360 

XXXVI. 

WEALTH  versus  LOVE 

366 

XXXVII. 

FURTHER  CONSULTATIONS 

373 

XXXVIII. 

MAKING  LOVE  TO  ONE'S  FATHER-IN-LAW 

379 

XXXIX. 

ACCEPTED  AND  ENGAGED 

388 

XL. 

CONGRATULATIONS,  ETC. 

396 

XLI. 

THE  EXPLOSION    ..... 

401 

XLII. 

THE  TALK  OVER  THE  PRAYER-BOOK    . 

409 

XLIII. 

BOLTON       ...... 

417 

XLIV. 

THE  WEDDING  JOURNEY    . 

421 

XLV. 

MY  WIPE'S  WARDROBE 

429 

XLVI. 

LETTERS  FROM  NEW  YORK 

435 

XLVII. 

AUNT  MARIA'S  DICTUM 

441 

XLVIII. 

448 

XLIX. 

PICNICKING  IN  NEW  YORK 

453 

L. 

NEIGHBORS      ..... 

458 

LI. 

MY  WIFE  PROJECTS  HOSPITALITIES 

464 

LIL 

PREPARATIONS  FOR  OUR  DINNER  PARTY 

468 

LIII. 

THE  HOUSE-WARMING. 

471 

ILLUSTRATIONS. 


I.  THE  MATCH-GAME     .... 

H.  MY  CHILD-WIFE  ... 

IH.  MATRIMONIAL  PROPOSITIONS  . 

IV.  UNCLE  JACOB'S  ADVICE 

V.  MY  DREAM-WIFE        .... 

VI.  THE  UMBRELLA  , 

VII.  THE  ADVANCED  WOMAN  OF  THE  PERIOD 

VIII.  BOLTON'S  ASYLUM 


Frontispiece. 

5 

15 

47 

64 

.  159 
240 
275 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   AUTHOR  DEFINES   HIS  POSITION. 

|T  appears  to  me  that  the  world  is  returning  to  its 
.second  childhood,  and  running  rnad  for  Stories. 
Stories!  Stories!  Stories!  every  where ;  stories  in 
every  paper,  in  every  crevice,  crack  and  corner  of  the  house. 
Stories  fall  from  the  pen  faster  than  leaves  of  autumn,  and 
of  as  many  shades  and  colorings.  Stories  blow  over  here 
ia  whirlwinds  from  England.  Stories  are  translated  from 
the  French,  from  the  Danish,  from  the  Swedish,  from  the 
German,  from  the  Russian.  There  are  serial  stories  for 
adults  in  the  Atlantic,  in  one  Overland,  in  the  Galaxy,  in 
Harper  s,  in  Scribner's.  There  are  serial  stories  for  youth- 
ful pilgrims  in  Our  Young Folks,  the  Little  Corporal,  "Oliver 
Optic,"  the  Youth's  Companion,  and  very  soon  we  anticipate 
newspapers  with  serial  storiesf  or  the  nursery.  We  shall  have 
those  charmingly  illustrated  magazines,  the  Cradle,t}\e  Rock- 
ing Chair,  the  First  Rattle,  and  the  First  Tooth,  with  suc- 
cessive chapters  of  "  Goosy  Goosy  Gander,"  and  "  Hickory 
Dickory  Dock,"  and  "  Old  Mother  Hubbard,''  extending 
through  twelve,  or  twenty -four,  or  forty-eight  numbers. 

I  have  often  questioned  what  Solomon  would  have  said  if 
he  had  lived  in  our  day.  The  poor  man,  it  appears,  was 
somewhat  blasd  with  the  abundance  of  literature  in  his  times, 
and  remarked  that  much,  study  was  weariness  to  the  flesh. 
Then,  printing  was  not  invented,  and  "books"  were  all 
copied  by  hand,  in  those  very  square  Hebrew  letters  where 
each  letter  is  about  as  careful  a  bit  of  work  as  a  grave-stone. 
And  yet,  even  with  all  these  restrictions  and  circumscrip- 
tions, Solomon  rather  testily  remarked,  "  Of  making  many 


2  3f  3r  WIFE  AND  I. 

books  there  is  no  end !"  What  would  he  have  said  had  he 
looked  over  a  modern  publisher's  catalogue  ? 

It  is  understood  now  that  no  paper  is  complete  without  its 
serial  story,  and  the  spinning  of  these  stories  keeps  thou- 
sands of  wheels  and  spindles  in  motion.  It  is  now  under- 
stood that  whoever  wishes  to  gain  the  public  ear,  and  to 
propound  a  new  theory,  must  do  it  in  a  serial  story.  Hath 
any  one  in  our  daj,  as  in  St.  Paul's,  a  psalm,  a  doctrine,  a 
tongue,  a  revelation,  an  interpretation — forthwith  he  wraps 
it  up  in  a  serial  story,  and  presents  it  to  the  public.  We 
have  prison  discipline,  free-trade,  labor  and  capital,  woman's 
rights,  the  temperance  question,  in  serial  stories.  We  have 
Romanism  and  Protestantism,  High  Church,  and  Low  Church 
and  no  Church,  contending  with  each  other  in  serial  stories, 
where  each  bide  converts  the  other,  according  to  the  faith  of 
the  narrator. 

We  see  that  this  thing  is  to  go  on.  Soon  it  will  be  neces- 
sary that  every  leading  clergyman  should  embody  in  his 
theology  a  serial  story,  to  be  delivered  from  the  pulpit  Sun- 
day after  Sunday.  We  look  forward  to  announcements  in 
our  city  papers  such  as  these :  The  Rev.  Dr.  Ignatius,  of  the 
Church  of  St.  Mary  the  Virgin,  will  begin  a  serial  romance, 
to  be  entitled  "  St.  Sebastian  and  the  Arrows,"  in  which  he 
will  embody  the  duties,  the  trials,  and  the  temptations  of 
the  young  Christians  of  our  day.  The  Rev.  Dr.  Boanerges, 
of  Plymouth  Rock  Church,  will  begin  a  serial  story,  entitled 
"  Calvin's  Daughter,"  in  which  he  will  discuss  the  distinctive 
features  of  Protestant  theology.  The  Rev.  Dr.  Cool  Shadow 
will  go  on  with  his  interesting  romance  of  "  Christianity  a 
Dissolving  View," — designed  to  show  how  everything  is,  in 
many  respects,  like  everything  else,  and  all  things  lead 
somewhere,  and  everything  will  finally  end  somehow,  and 
that  therefore  it  is  important  that  everybody  should  culti- 
vate general  sweetness,  and  have  the  very  best  time  possible 
in  this  world. 

By  the  time  all  these  romances  get  to  going,  the  system  of 
teaching  by  parables,  and  opening  one's  mouth  in  dark 
sayings,  will  be  fully  elaborated.  Pilgrim's  Progress 


THE  A  UTHOR  DEFINES  HIS  POSITION.  3 

will  be  no  where.  The  way  to  the  celestial  city  will  be  as 
plain  in  everybody's  rnind  as  the  way  up  Broadway — and  so 
much  more  interesting !  Finally  all  science  and  all  art  will 
be  explained,  conducted,  and  directed  by  serial  stories,  till 
the  present  life  and  the  life  to  come  shall  form  only  one 
grand  romance.  This  will  be  about  the  time  of  the  Millen- 
nium. 

Meanwhile,  I  have  been  furnishing  a  story  for  the  Chris- 
tian Union,  and  f  chose  the  subject  which  is  in  everybody's 
mind  and  mouth,  discussed  on  every  platform,  ringing  from 
everybody's  tongue,  and  coming  home  to  every  man's  busi- 
ness and  bosom,  to  wit : 


I  trust  that  Miss  Anthony  and  Mrs.  Stanton,  and  all  the 
prophetesses  of  our  day,  will  remark  the  humility  and  pro- 
priety of  my  title.  It  is  not  I  and  My  Wife— oh  no  !  It  is 
My  Wife  and  I.  What  am  I,  and  what  is  my  father's  house, 
that  I  should  go  before  my  wife  in  anything? 

"  But  why  specially  for  the  Christian  Union?"  says  Mr. 
Chadband.  Let  us  in  a  spirit  of  Love  inquire. 

Is  it  not  evident  why,  O  beloved  ?  Is  not  that  firm  in  hu- 
man nature  which  stands  under  the  title  of  MY  WIFE  AND  I, 
the  oldest  and  most  venerable  form  of  Christian  union  on 
record  ?  Where,  I  ask,  will  you  find  a  better  one  ? — a  wiser, 
a  stronger,  a  sweeter,  a  more  universally  popular  and  agree- 
able one  1 

To  be  sure,  there  have  been  times  and  seasons  when  this 
ancient  and  respectable  firm  has  been  attacked  as  a  piece  of 
old  fogyism,  and  various  substitutes  for  it  proposed.  It 
has  been  said  that  "  MY  WIFE  AND  I"  denoted  a  selfish, 
close  corporation  inconsistent  with  a  general,  all- sided  dif- 
fusive, universal  benevolence  ;  that  MY  WIFE  AND  I,  in  a 
millennial  community,  had  no  particular  rights  in  each  other 
more  than  any  of  the  thousands  of  the  brethren  and  Bisters 
of  the  human  race.  Thay  have  said,  too,  that  MY  WIFE 
AND  I,  instead  of  an  indissoluble  unity,  were  only  temporary 


3  M Y  WIFE  AND  I. 

partners,  engaged  on  time,  with  the  liberty  of  giving  three 
months' notice,  and  starting  off  to  anew  firm. 

It  is  not  thus  that  we  understand  the  matter. 

MY  WIFE  AND  I,  as  we  understand  it,  is  the  sign  and  sym- 
bol of  more  than  any  earthly  partnership  or  union— of 
something  sacred  as  religion,  indissoluble  as  the  soul,  end- 
less as  eternity —the  symbol  chosen  by  Almighty  Love  to 
represent  his  redeeming,  eternal  union  with  the  soul  of  man. 

A  fountain  of  eternal  youth  gushes  near  the  hearth  of 
every  household.  Each  man  and  woman  that  have  loved 
truly,  have  had  their  romance  in  life — their  poetry  in  exis- 
tence. 

So  I,  in  giving  my  history,  disclaim  all  other  sources  of 
interest.  Look  not  for  trap-doors,  or  haunted  houses,  or 
deadly  conspiracies,  or  murders,  or  concealed  crimes,  in  this 
history,  for  you  will  not  find  one.  You  shall  have  simply 
and  only  the«old  story— old  as  the  first  chapter  of  Genesis— 
of  Adam  stupid,  desolate,  and  lonely  without  Eve,  and  how 
he  sought  and  how  he  found  her. 

This  much,  on  mature  consideration  I  hold  to  be  about 
the  sum  and  substance  of  all  the  romances  that  have  ever 
been  written,  and  so  long  as  there  are  new  Adams  and  new 
Eves  in  each  coming  generation,  it  will  not  want  for  sym- 
pathetic listeners. 

So  I,  Harry  Henderson— a  plain  Yankee  boy  from  the 
mountains  of  New  Hampshire,  and  at  present  citizen  of 
New  York — commence  my  story. 

My  experiences  have  three  stages. 

First,  My  child- wife,  or  the  experiences  of  childhood. 

Second  My  shadow-wife,  or  the  dreamland  of  the  future. 

Third,  my  real  wife,  where  I  saw  her,  how  I  sought  and 
found  her. 

In  pursuing  a  story  simply  and  mainly  of  love  and  mar- 
riage, I  am  reminded  of  the  saying  of  a  respectable  serving 
man  of  European  experiences,  who  speaking  of  his  position 
in  a  noble  family  said  it  was  not  so  mucb  the  wages  that 
made  it  an  object  as  "  the  things  it  enabled  a  gentleman  to 


THE  AUTHOR  DEFINES  HIS  POSITION.  4 

pick  up?  So  in  our  modern  days  as  we  have  been  observ- 
ing, it  is  not  so  much  the  story,  as  the  things  it  gives  the 
author  a  chance  to  say.  The  history  of  a  young  American 
man's  progress  toward  matrimony,  of  course  brings  him 
among  the  most  stirring  and  exciting  topics  of  the  day, 
where  all  that  relates  to  the  joint  interests  of  man  and 
woman  lias  been  thrown  into  the  arena  as  an  open  question, 
and  in  relating  our  own  experiences,  we  shall  take  occasion 
to  keep  up  with  the  spirit  of  this  discussing  age  in  all  these 
matters. 


MY  CHILD-WIFE. 

"  The  big  boys  quizzed  me,  made  hideous  faces  at  me  from  behind  their 
spelling-books,  and  great  hulking  Tom  HalUday  threw  a  spit-ball  that 
bxlged  on  the  wall  just  over  my  head,  by  way  of  Hhowiny  hi*  contempt  fin- 
me ;  but  J7/x>fced  at  Susie,  and  took  courage." 


MY  CHILD-WIFE. 


CHAPTER      II. 

MY    CHILD-WIFE. 

|  HE  Bible  says  it  is  not  good  for  man  to  be  alone. 
This  is  a  truth  that  has  been  "borne  in  on  my 
mind,  with  peculiar  force,  from  the  earliest  of  my 
recollection.  In  fact  when  I  was  only  seven  years  old  I 
had  selected  my  wife,  and  asked  the  paternal  consent. 

You  see,  I  was  an  unusually  lonesome  little  fellow,  because 
I  belonged  to  the  number  of  those  unlucky  waifs  who  come 
into  this  mortal  life  under  circumstances  when  nobody  wants 
or  expects  them.  My  father  was  a  poor  country  minister  m 
the  mountains  of  Xew  Hampshire  with  a  salary  of  six  hun- 
dred dollars,  with  nine  children.  I  was  the  tenth.  1  was 
not  expected ;  my  immediate  predecessor  was  five  years  of 
age,  and  the  gossips  of  the  neighborhood  had  already  pre- 
sented congratulations  to  my  mother  on  having  "  done  up 
her  work  iu  trie  forenoon/7  and  being  ready  to  sit  down  to 
afternoon  leisure. 

Her  well-worn  baby  clothes  were  all  given  away,  the  cradle 
was  peaceably  consigned  to  the  garret,  and  my  mother  was 
now  regarded  r.s  without  excuse  if  she  did  not  preside  at  the 
weekly  prayer-meeting,  the  monthly  Maternal  Association, 
and  the  Missionary  meeting,  and  perform  besides  regular 
pastoral  visitations  among  the  good  wives  of  her  pjm'sh. 

No  one,  of  course,  ever  thought  of  voting  her  any  little 
extra  salary  on  account  of  these  public  duties  which  ab- 
sorbed so  much  time  and  attention  from  her  perplexing 
domestic  cares — rendered  still  more  severe  and  onerous  by 
my  father's  limited  salary.  My  father's  six  hundred  dollars, 
however,  was  considered  by  the  farmers  of  the  vicinity  as 
being  a  princely  income,  which  accounted  satisfactorily  for 
everything,  and  had  he  not  been  considered  by  them  OB 
"  about  the  smartest  man  in  the  State,r  they  could  not  h:ivr 


6  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

gone  up  to  such  a  figure.  My  mother  was  one  of  those  gen- 
tle, soft-spoken,  quiet  little  women  who,  like  oil,  permeate 
crack  and  joint  of  life  with  smoothness. 

With  a  noiseless  step,  an  almost  shadowy  movement,  her 
hand  and  eye  were  every  where.  Her  house  was  a  miraclo 
of  neatness  and  order — her  children  of  all  ages  and  sizes 
under  her  perfect  control,  and  the  accumulations  of  labor  of 
all  descriptions  which  beset  a  great  family  where  there  are 
no  servants,  all  melted  away  under  her  hands  as  if  by  en- 
chantment. 

She  had  a  divine  magic  too,  that  mother  of  mine ;  if  it  bo 
magic  to  commune  daily  with  the  supernatural.  She  had 
a  little  room  all  her  own,  where  on  a  stand  always  lay 
open  the  great  family  Bible,  and  when  work  pressed  luu-d 
and  children  were  untoward,  when  sickness  threatened, 
when  the  skeins  of  life  were  all  crossways  and  tangled,  she 
went  quietly  to  that  room,  and  kneeling  over  that  Bible, 
took  hold  of  a  warm,  healing,  invisible  hand,  that  made  the 
crooked  straight,  and  the  rough  places  plain. 

"  Poor  Mrs.  Henderson — another  boy !"  said  the  gossips  on 
the  day  that  I  was  born.  "  What  a  shame !  poor  woman. 
Well,  I  wish  her  joy!" 

But  she  took  me  to  a  warm  bosom  and  bade  God  bless 
ine!  All  that  God  sent  to  her  was  treasure.  "Who 
knows,"  she  said  cheerily  to  my  father,  "  this  may  be  our 
brightest." 

"  God  bless  him,"  said  my  father,  kissing  me  and  my 
mother,  and  then  he  returned  to  an  important  treatise  which 
was  to  reconcile  the  decrees  of  God  with  the  free  agency  of 
man,  and  which  the  event  of  my  entrance  into  this  world 
had  interrupted  for  some  hours.  The  sermon  was  a  perfect 
success  I  am  told,  and  nobody  that  heard  it  ever  had  a  mo- 
ment's further  trouble  on  that  subject. 

As  to  ine,  my  outfit  for  this  world  was  of  the  scant cst — a 
few  yellow  flannel  petticoats  and  a  few  slips  run  up  from 
some  of  my  older  sisters  cast  olf  white  gowns,  were  deemed 
sufficient. 


MY  CHILD-WIFE.  7 

The  first  child  in  a  family  is  its  poem— it  is  a  sort  of 
nativity  play,  and  we  bend  before  the  young  stranger,  with 
gifts,  "gold,  frankincense  and  myrrh."  But  the  tenth  child 
in  a  poor  family  is  prose,  and  gets  simply  what  is  duo  to 
comfort.  There  are  no  superfluities,  no  fripperies,  no  ideali- 
ties about  the  tenth  cradle. 

As  I  grew  up  I  found  myself  rather  a  solitary  little  fellow 
in  a  great  house,  full  of  the  bustle  and  noise  and  conflicting 
claims  of  older  brothers  and  sisters,  who  had  got  the  floor  in 
the  stage  of  life  before  me,  and  who  were  too  busy  with 
their  own  wants,  schemes  and  plans,  to  regard  me. 

I  was  all  very  well  so  long  as  I  kept  within  the  limits  of 
babyhood.  They  said  I  was  the  handsomest  baby  ever  per- 
taining to  the  family  establishment,  and  as  long  as  that 
quality  and  condition  lasted  1  was  made  a  pet  of.  My  sisters 
curled  niy  golden  locks  and  made  me  wonderful  little  frocks, 
and  took  me  about  to  show  me.  But  when  I  grew  bigger, 
and  the  golden  locks  were  sheared  off  and  replaced  by 
straight  light  hair,  and  I  was  inducted  into  jacket  and 
pantaloons,  cut  down  by  Miss  Abia  Ferkin  from  my  next 
brother's  last  year's  suit,  outgrown — then  I  vras  turned  upon 
the  world  to  shift  for  myself.  Babyhood  was  over,  and  man- 
hood not  begun — I  was  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  boyhood. 

My  brothers  and  sisters  were  affectionate  enough  in  their 
way,  but  had  not  the  least  sentiment,  and  as  I  said  before 
they  had  each  one  their  own  concerns  to  look  after.  My 
eldest  brother  was  in  college,  my  next  brother  was  fitting 
for  college  in  a  neighboring  academy,  and  used  to  walk  ten 
miles  daily  to  his  lessons  and  take  his  dinner  with  him.  One 
of  my  older  sisters  was  married,  the  two  next  were  hand- 
some lively  girls,  with  a  retinue  of  beaux,  who  of  course  took 
up  a  deal  of  their  time  and  thoughts.  The  sister  next  before 
me  was  four  years  above  me  on  the  lists  of  life,  and  of  course 
looked  down  on  me  as  a  little  boy  unworthy  of  her  society. 
When  her  two  or  three  chattering  girl  friends  came  to  see 
her  and  they  had  their  dolls  and  their  baby  houses  to  man- 
age, I  was  always  in  the  way. .  They  laughed  at  my  awk- 


8  JH 1*  WIFE  AND  I. 

wardness,  criticised  my  nose,  my  hair,  and  my  ears  to  my 
face,  with  that  feminine  freedom  by  which  the  gentler  sex 
joy  to  put  down  the  stronger  one  when  they  have  it  at  ad- 
vantage. I  used  often  to  retire  from  their  society  swelling 
with  impotent  wrath,  at  their  free  comments.  "  I  won't  play 
with  you,"  I  would  exclaim.  "Nobody  wants  you,"  would 
be  the  rejoinder.  "  We've  been  wanting  to  be  rid  of  you  this 
good  while." 

But  as  I  was  a  stout  little  fellow,  my  elders  thought  it  ad- 
visable to  devolve  on  me  any  such  tasks  and  errands  as 
interfered  with  their  comfort.  1  was  sent  to  the  store  when 
the  wind  howled  and  the  frost  bit,  and  my  brothers  and  sis- 
ters preferred  a  warm  corner.  "  He's  only  a  boy,  he  can  go, 
or  he  can  do  or  he  can  wait,"  was  always  the  award  of  my 
sisters. 

My  individual  pursuits,  and  my  own  little  stock  of  inter- 
ests, were  of  course  of  no  account.  I  was  required  to  be  in 
a  perfectly  free,  disengaged  state  of  mind,  and  ready  to  drop 
every  thing  at  a  moment's  warning  from  any  of  my  half 
dozen  seniors.  "  Here  Hal,  run  down  cellar  and  get  me  a 
dozen  apples,"  my  brother  would  say,  just  as  I  had  half  built 
a  block  house.  Harry,  run  up  stairs  and  get  the  book  I  left 
on  the  bed — Harry,  run  out  to  the  barn  and  get  the  rake  I 
left  there — Here,  Harry,  carry  this  up  garret — Harry,  run  out 
to  the  tool  shop  and  get  that" — were  sounds  constantly  oc- 
curring—breaking up  my  private  cherished  little  enterprises 
of  building  cob-houses,  making  mill  dams  and  bridges,  or 
loading  carriages,  or  driving  horses.  Where  is  the  mature 
Christian  who  could  bear  with  patience  the  interruptions  and 
crosses  in  his  daily  schemes,  that  beset  a  boy  ? 

Then  there  were  for  me  dire  mortifications  and  bitter  dis- 
appointments. If  any  company  came  and  the  family  board 
was  filled  and  the  cake  and  preserves  brought  out,  and  gay 
conversation  made  my  heart  bound  with  special  longings  to 
be  in  at  the  fun,  I  heard  them  say,  "  No  need  to  set  a  plate 
for  Harry— he  can  just  as  well  wait  till  after."  I  can  recol 
loot  many  a  serious  deprivation  of  mature  life,  that  did  not 


MY  CHILD-WIFE.  9 

bring  such  bitterness  of  soul  as  that  sentence  of  exclusion. 
Then  when  my  sister's  admirer,  Sam  Richards,  was  expected, 
and  the  best  parlor  fire  lighted,  and  the  hearth  swept,  how 
1  longed  to  sit  up  and  hear  his  funny  stories,  how  I  hid  in 
dark  corners,  and  lay  oft'  in  shadowy  places,  hoping  to  escape 
notice  and  so  avoid  the  activity  of  the  domestic  police.  But 
110,  "  Mamma,  mustn't  Harry  go  to  bed  f  was  the  busy  out- 
cry of  my  sisters,  desirous  to  have  the  deck  cleared  for 
action,  and  superfluous  members  finally  disposed  of. 

Take  it  for  all  in  all — I  felt  myself,  though  not  wanting  in 
the  supply  of  any  physical  necessity,  to  be  somehow,  as  I 
said,  a  very  lonesome  little  fellow  in  the  world.  In  all  that 
busy,  lively,  gay,  bustling  household  I  had  no  mate. 

"  1  think  we  must  send  Harry  to  school,"  said  my  mother, 
gently,  to  my  father,  when  I  had  vented  this  complaint  in 
her  maternal  bosom.  "  Poor  little  fellow,  he  is  an  odd  one ! 
— there  isn't  exactly  any  one  in  the  house  for  him  to  mate 
with !" 

So  to  school  I  was  sent,  with  a  clean  checked  apron, 
drawn  up  tight  in  my  neck,  and  a  dinner  basket,  and  a 
brown  towel  on  which  I  was  to  be  instructed  in  the  whole- 
some practice  of  sewing.  I  went,  trembling  and  blushing, 
with  many  an  apprehension  of  the  big  boys  who  had  prom  • 
ised  to  thrash  me  when  I  came ;  but  the  very  first  day  I  was 
made  blessed  in  the  vision  of  my  little  child-wife,  Susie 
Morril. 

Such  a  pretty,  neat  little  figure  as  she  was  1  I  saw  her  first 
standing  in  the  school-room  door.  Her  cheeks  and  neck 
were  like  wax ;  her  eyes  clear  blue ;  and  when  she  smiled, 
two  little  dimples  flitted  in  and  out  on  her  cheeks,  like  those 
in  a  sunny  brook.  She  was  dressed  in  a  pink  gingham 
frock,  with  a  clean  white  apron  fitted  trimly  about  her  little 
round  neck.  She  was  her  mother's  only  child,  and  always 
daintily  dressed. 

"  Oh,  Susie  dear,"  said  my  mother,  who  had  me  by  the 
hand,  "  I've  brought  a  little  boy  here  to  school,  and  will  be 
a  mate  for  you." 


10  arr  WIFE  AND  i. 

How  affably  and  graciously  she  received  me — the  littlo 
Kve— :ill  smiles  and  obligingness  and  encouragement  for  tho 
lumpish,  awkward  Adam.  How  she  made  me  sit  down  on  a 
seat  by  her,  and  put  her  little  white  arm  cosily  over  my 
neck,  as  she  laid  the  spelling-book  on  her  knee,  saying — "  I 
read  in  Baker.  Where  do  you  read  ?" 

Friend,  it  was  Webster's  Spelling-book  that  was  their 
text-book,  and  many  of  you  will  remember  where  "  Baker  " 
is  in  that  literary  career.  The  column  of  words  thus  headed 
was  a  mile-stone  on  the  path  of  infant  progress.  But  my 
mother  had  been  a  diligent  instructress  at  home,  and  I  an 
apt  scholar,  and  my  breast  swelled  as  I  told  little  Susie 
that  I  had  gone  beyond  Baker.  I  saw  "respect  mingling 
with  surprise"  in  her  great  violet  eyes ;  iny  soul  was  enlarged 
— my  little  frame  dilated,  as  turning  over  to  the  picture  of 
the  "old  man  who  found  a  rude  boy  on  one  of  his  trees 
stealing  apples,"  I  answered  her  that  I  had  read  there ! 

"  Why-ce .'"  said  the  little  maiden ;  "  only  think,  girls — he 
reads  in  readings !" 

I  was  set  up  and  glorified  in  my  own  esteem ;  two  or  thrco 
girls  looked  at  mo  with  evident  consideration. 

"  Don't  you  want  to  sit  on  our  side  ?"  said  Susie,  engaging- 
ly. "  I'll  ask  Miss  Bessie  to  let  you,  'cause  she  said  the  big 
boys  always  plague  the  little  ones."  And  so,  as  she  was  a 
smooth-tongued  little  favorite,  she  not  only  introduced  me 
to  the  teacher,  but  got  me  comfortably  niched  beside  her 
dainty  self  on  the  hard,  backless  seat,  where  I  sat  swinging 
my  heels,  and  looking  for  all  the  world  like  a  rough  little 
short-tailed  robin,  just  pushed  out  of  the  nest,  and  survey- 
ing the  world  with  round,  anxious  eyes.  The  big  boys 
quizzed  me,  made  hideous  faces  at  mo  from  behind  their 
spelling-books,  and  great  hulking  Tom  Halliday  threw  a  spit 
ball  that  lodged  on  the  wall  just  over  my  head,  by  way  of 
showing  his  contempt  for  me ;  but  I  looked  at  Susie,  and 
took  courage.  J  thought  I  never  saw  anything  so  pretty  as 
she  was.  I  was  never  tired  with  following  the  mazes  of  her 
golden  curls.  I  thought  how  dainty  and  nice  and  white  her 


M  Y  CHILD-  WIFr.  !  i 

pink  dress  and  white  apron  were ;  and  she  wore  a  pair  of 
wonderful  little  red  shoos  ;  her  tiny  hands  were  ;-o  skillful 
and  so  busy !  She  turned  the  hem  of  my  brown  towel,  and 
basted  it  for  me  so  nicely,  and  then  she  took  out  some 
delicate  ruffling  that  was  her  school  work,  and  I  admired 
her  bright,  fine  needle  and  line  thread,  and  the  waxen  little 
finger  crowned  with  a  little  brass  thimble,  as  she  sewed 
away  with  an  industrious  steadiness.  To  me  the  brass  was 
gold,  and  her  hands  were  pearl,  and  she  was  a  little  fairy 
princess ! — yet  every  few  moments  she  turned  her  great  blue 
eyes  on  me,  and  smiled  and  nodded  her  little  head  knowing- 
ly, as  much  as  to  bid  me  be  of  good  cheer,  and  I  felt  a  thrill 
go  right  to  my  heart,  that  beat  delightedly  under  the  checked 
apron. 

"Please,  ma'am,"  said  Susan,  glibly,  "mayn't  Henry  go 
out  to  play  with  the  girls  "?  The  big  boys  are  so  rough." 

And  Miss  Bessie  smiled,  and  said  I  might ;  and  I  was  a 
blessed  little  boy  from  that  moment.  In  the  first  recess  Susie 
instructed  me  in  playing  "  Tag,"  and  "  Oats,  peas,  beans,  and 
barley,  0,"  and  in  "Threading  the  needle,"  and  "Opening 
the  gates  as  high  as  high  as  the  sky,  to  let  King  George  and 
his  court  pass  by " — in  all  which  she  was  a  proficient,  and 
where  I  needed  a  great  deal  of  teaching  and  encouraging. 

But  Y>Then  it  came  to  more  athletic  feats,  I  could  distin- 
guish myself.  I  dared  jump  off  from  a  higher  fence  than  she 
could,  and  covered  myself  with  glory  by  climbing  to  the  top 
of  a  five-railed  gate,  and  jumping  boldly  down ;  and  more- 
over, when  a  cow  appeared  on  the  green  before  the  school- 
house  door,  I  marched  up  to  her  with  a  stick  and  ordered  her 
off,  with  a  manly  stride  and  a  determined  voice,  and  chased 
her  with  the  utmost  vigor  quite  out  of  sight.  These  pro- 
ceedings seemed  to  inspire  Susie  with  a  certain  respect  and 
confidence.  I  could  read  in  "  readings,"  jump  off  from  high 
fences,  and  wasn't  afraid  of  cows !  These  were  manly  accom- 
plishments ! 

The  school-house  was  a  long  distance  from  my  father's, 
and  I  used  to  bring  my  dinner.  Susie  brought  hers  also, 


12  3IF  WIFE  AND  I. 

and  Diany  «i  delightful  picnic  have  we  had  together.  We 
made  ourselves  a  house  under  a  great  button-ball  tree,  at 
whose  foot  the  grass  was  short  and  green.  Our  house  was 
neither  more  nor  less  than  a  square,  marked  out  on  the 
green  turf  by  stones  taken  from  the  wall.  I  glorified  myself 
in  my  own  eyes  and  in  Susie's,  by  being  able  to  lift  stones 
twice  as  heavy  as  she  could,  and  a  big  flat  one,  which  nearly 
broke  my  back,  was  deposited  in  the  centre  of  the  square,  as 
our  table.  We  used  a  clean  pocket-handkerchief  for  a  table- 
cloth ;  and  Susie  was  wont  to  set  out  our  meals  with  great 
order,  making  plates  and  dishes  out  of  the  button-ball- 
leaves.  Under  her  direction  also,  I  fitted  up  our  house  with 
a  pantry,  and  a  small  room  where  we  used  to  play  wash 
dishes,  and  set  away  what  was  left  of  our  meals.  The  pan- 
try was  a  stone  cupboard,  where  we  kept  chestnuts  and 
apples,  and  what  remained  of  our  cookies  and  gingerbread. 
Susie  was  fond  of  ornamentation,  and  stuck  bouquets  of 
golden  rod  and  aster  around  in  our  best  room,  and  there  we 
received  company,  and  had  select  society  come  to  see  us. 
Susie  brought  her  doll  to  dwell  in  this  establishment,  and  I 
made  her  a  bedroom  and  a  little  bed  of  milkweed-silk  to  lie 
on.  We  put  her  to  bed  and  tucked  her  up  when  we  went 
into  school— not  without  apprehension  that  those  savages, 
the  big  boys,  might  visit  our  Eden  with  devastation.  But 
the  girls'  recess  came  first,  and  we  could  venture  to  leave  her 
there  taking  a  nap  till  our  play-time  came ;  and  when  the 
girls  went  in  Susie  rolled  her  nursling  in  a  napkin  and  took 
her  safely  into  school,  and  laid  her  away  in  a  corner  of  her 
desk,  while  the  dreadful  big  boys  were  having  their  yelling 
war-whoop  and  carnival  outside. 

"  How  nice  it  is  to  have  Harry  gone  all  day  to  school,"  I 
heard  one  of  my  sisters  saying  to  the  other.  "  He  used  to 
be  so  in  the  way,  meddling  and  getting  into  everything" — 
"And  listening  to  everything  one  says,"  said  the  other, 
"Children  have  such  horridly  quick  ears.  Harry  always 
listens  to  what  we  talk  about." 

"  I  think  he  is  happier  now,  poor  little  fellow,"  said  my 


MY  CHILD-WIFE.  13 

mother.  "  He  has  somebody  now  to  play  with.'5  This  was 
the  truth  of  the  matter. 

On  Saturday  afternoons,  1  used  to  beg  of  my  mother  to 
let  me  go  and  see  Susie  ;  and  my  sisters,  nothing  loth,  used 
to  brush  my  hair  and  put  on  me  a  stiff,  clean,  checked  apron, 
and  send  me  trotting  oft',  the  happiest  of  young  lovers. 

How  bright  and  fair  life  seemed  to  me  those  Saturday 
afternoons,  when  the  sun,  through  the  picket- fences,  made 
golden-green  lines  on  the  turf — and  the  trees  waved  and 
whispered,  and  1  gathered  handfulsof  golden-rod  and  asters 
to  ornament  our  house,  under  the  button- wood  tree  ! 

Then  we  used  to  play  in  the  barn  together.  We  hunted 
for  hens'  eggs,  and  I  dived  under  the  barn  to  dark  places 
where  she  dared  not  go  ;  and  climbed  up  to  high  places  over 
the  hay-mow,  where  she  trembled  to  behold  me — bringing 
stores  of  eggs,  which  she  received  in  her  clean  white  apron. 

This  daintiness  of  outfit  excited  my  constant  admiration. 
I  wore  stiff,  heavy  jackets  and  checked  aprons,  and  was  con- 
stantly, so  my  sisters  said,  wearing  holes  through  my  knees 
and  elbows  for  them  to  patch ;  but  little  Susie  always  ap- 
peared to  me  fresh  and  fine  and  untumbled ;  she  never 
dirtied  her  hands  or  soiled  her  dress.  Like  a  true  little 
woman,  she  seemed  to  have  nerves  through  all  her  clothes 
that  kept  them  in  order.  This  nicety  of  person  inspired  me 
with  a  secret,  wondering  reverence.  How  could  she  always 
be  so  clean,  so  trim,  and  every  way  so  pretty,  I  wondered  ? 
Her  golden  curls  always  seemed  fresh  from  the  brush,  and 
even  when  she  climbed  and  ran,  and  went  with  me  into  the 
barn-yard,  or  through  the  swamp  and  into  all  sorts  of  com- 
promising places,  she  somehow  picked  her  way  out  bright 
and  un soiled. 

But  though  I  admired  her  ceaselessly  for  this,  she  was  no 
less  in  admiration  of  my  daring  strength  and  prowess.  1  felt 
myself  a  perfect  Paladin  in  her  defense.  1  remember  that 
the  chip-yard  which  we  used  to  cross,  on  our  way  to  the 
barn,  was  tyrannized  over  by  a  most  loud-mouthed  and 
arrogant  old  turkey-cock,  that  used  to  strut  and  swell  and 
gobble  and  chitter  greatly  to  her  terror.  She  told  me  of 


!4  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

different  times  when  she  had  tried  to  cross  the  yard  til  one, 
iiow  lie  had  lumped  upon  her  and  napped  his  wings,  ;ind 
thrown  her  down,  to  her  great  distress  and  horror.  The 
first  time  he  tried  the  game  on  me,  I  marched  up  to  him,  and 
by  a  dexterous  pass,  seized  his  red  neck  in  my  hand,  and  con- 
lining  his  wings  down  with  my  arm,  walked  him  ingloriously 
out  of  the  yard. 

How  triumphant  Susie  was,  and  how  I  swelled  and  exulted 
to  her,  telling  her  what  J  would  do  to  protect  her  under 
every  supposable  variety  of  circumstances !  Susie  had  con- 
fessed to  me  of  being  dreadfully  afraid  of  "bears,"  and  I 
took  this  occasion  to  tell  her  what  I  would  do  if  a  bear  should 
actually  attack  her.  I  assured  iier  that  1  would  get  father's 
gun  and  shoot  him  without  mercy — and  she  listened  and  be- 
lieved. I  also  dilated  on  what  1  would  do  if  robbers  should 
get  into  the  house ;  I  would,  I  informed  her,  immediately  get 
up  and  pour  shovelfuls  of  hot  coal  down  their  backs — and 
wouldn't  they  have  to  run  ?  What  comfort  and  security  this 
view  of  matters  gave  us  both  !  What  bears  and  robbers 
were,  we  had  no  very  precise  idea,  but  it  was  a  comfort  to 
think  how  strong  and  adequate  to  meet  them  in  any  event  I 
was. 

Sometimes,  of  a  Saturday  afternoon,  Susie  was  permitted 
to  come  and  play  with  me.  1  always  went  after  her,  and 
solicited  the  favor  humbly  at  the  hands  of  her  mother,  who, 
after  many  washings  and  dressings  and  cautions  as  to  her 
clothes,  delivered  her  up  to  me,  with  the  condition  that  she 
was  to  start  for  home  when  the  sun  was  half  an  hour  high. 
Susie  was  very  conscientious  in  watching,  but  for  my  part  I 
never  agreed  with  her.  I  was  always  sure  that  the  sun  was 
an  hour  high,  when  she  set  her  little  face  dutifully  home- 
ward. My  sisters  used  to  pet  her  greatly  during  these  visits. 
They  delighted  to  twine  her  curls  over  their  fingers,  and  try 
the  effects  of  different  articles  of  costume  on  her  fair  com- 
plexion. They  would  ask  her,  laughing,  would  she  be  my 
little  wife,  to  which  she  always  answered  with  a  grave 
affirmative. 


MATRIMONIAL  PROPOSITIONS. 

iT  Sy  mon?a5JM  !"  *af(J  m"  wo^"-,  8topp/nj7  her  knitting, 
*****  a  smile  flash**  over  her  thin  cheeks :  "  u*af.  M.  *fld  f 


MY  CHILD-WIFE.  15 

Yes,  she  was  to  be  my  wife  ;  it  was  all  settled  between  us. 
But  when  ?  I  didn't  sec  why  we  must  wait  till  we  grew  up. 
She  was  lonesome  when  1  was  #0110,  and  1  was  lonesome 
when  she  was  gone.  Why  not  marry  her  now,  and  take  licr 
home  to  live  with  me?  1  asked  her  and  she  said  she  was 
willing,  but  mamma  never  would  spare  her.  I  said  1  would 
get  my  mamma  to  ask  her,  and  I  knew  she  couldn't  refuse, 
because  my  papa  was  the  minister. 

I  turned  the  matter  over  and  over  in  my  mind,  and  thought 
sometime  when  I  could  (ind  my  mother  alone,  1  would  intro- 
duce the  subject.  So  one  evening,  as  1  sat  on  my  little  stool 
at  my  mother's  knees,  I  thought  I  would  open  the  subject, 
and  began  : 

"  Mamma,  why  do  people  object  to  early  marriages  ?" 

"  Early  marriages  f  said  my  mother,  stopping  her  knit- 
ting, looking  at  me,  while  a  smile  flashed  over  her  thin 
checks  :  "  what's  the  child  thinking  01  ?" 

"  I  mean,  why  can't  Susie  and  I  be  married  now?  I  want 
her  here.  I'm  lonesome  without  her.  Nobody  wants  to  play 
with  me  in  this  house,  and  if  she  were  here  we  should  be  to- 
gether all  the  time." 

My  father  wckc  up  from  his  meditation  on  his  next  Sun- 
day's sermon,  and  looked  at  iny  mother,  smiling.  A  gentle 
laugh  rippled  her  bosom. 

"  Why,  dear,"  she  said,  "  don't  you  know  your  father  is  a 
poor  man,  and  has  hard  work  to  support  his  children  now? 
He  couldn't  afford  to  keep  another  little  girl." 

I  thought  the  matter  over,  sorrowfully.  Here  was  the 
pecuniary  difficulty,  that  puts  off  so  many  desiring  lovers, 
meeting  me  on  the  very  threshold  of  life. 

"  Mother,"  I  said,  after  a  period  of  mournful  consideration, 
"1  wouldn't  cat  but  just  half  as  much  as  I  do  now,  and  I'd 
try  not  to  wear  out  my  clothes,  and  make  'cm  last  longer." 

My  mother  had  very  bright  eyes,  and  there  was  a  mingled 
flash  of  tears  and  laughter  in  them,  as  when  the  sun  winks 
through  rain  drops.  She  lifted  me  gently  into  her  lap  and 
drew  my  head  down  on  her  bosom. 

"  Some  day,  when  my  little  son  grows  to  be  a  man,  I  hope 


1G  J/l'  V.'IFE  AND  L 

God  will  give  him  a  wife  he  loves  dearly.  '  Houses  and 
lands  are  from  the  fathers;  but  a  good  wife  is  of  the  Lord,1 
the  Bible  says." 

"  That's  true,  dear,"  said  my  father,  looking  at  her  tender- 
ly ;  "  nobody  knows  that  better  than  1  do." 

My  mother  rocked  gently  back  and  forward  with  me  in  the 
evening  shadows,  and  talked  with  me  and  soothed  me,  and 
told  me  stories  how  one  day  I  should  grow  to  be  a  good  man 
— a  minister,  like  my  father,  she  hoped — and  have  a  dear  lit- 
tle house  of  my  own. 

"  And  will  Susie  be  in  it  ?" 

"  Let's  hope  so,"  said  my  mother.    "  Who  knows  ?" 

'•  But,  mother,  arn't  you  sure  ?  1  want  you  to  say  it  will  be 
certainly." 

"  My  little  one,  only  our  dear  Father  could  tell  us  that, 
said  my  mother.  "But  now  you  must  try  and  learn  fast, 
and  become  a  good  strong  man,  so  that  you  can  take  eare  of 
a  little  wife." 


OUR   CHILD-EDEN.  17 

CHAPTER     III. 

OUR  CHILD-EDEN. 

mother's  talk  aroused  all  the  CDthusiasm  of  my 
nature.  Here  was  a  motive,  to  be  sure.  T  went 
to  bed  and  dreamed  of  it.  I  thought  over  all 
possible  ways  of  growing  big  and  strong  rapidly— T  had 
heard  the  stories  of  Samson  from  the  Bible.  How  did  he 
grow  so  strong  ?  He  was  probably  once  a  little  boy  like 
me.  "  Did  he  go  for  the  cows,  I  wonder,"  thought  I — "  and 
let  down  very  big  bars  when  his  hands  were  little,  and  learn 
to  ride  the  old  horse  bare-back,  when  his  legs  were  very 
short?"  All  these  things  I  was  emulous  to  do;  and  Ire- 
solved  to  lift  very  heavy  pails  full  of  water,  and  very  many 
of  them,  and  to  climb  into  the  mow,  and  throw  down  great 
arm  fulls  of  hay,  and  in  every  possible  way  to  grow  big  and 
strong. 

I  remember  the  next  day  after  my  talk  with  my  mother 
was  Saturday,  and  I  had  leave  to  go  up  and  spend  it  with 
Susie. 

There  was  a  meadow  just  back  of  her  mother's  house, 
which  we  used  to  call  the  mowing  lot.  It  was  white  with 
daisies,  yellow  with  buttercups,  with  some  moderate  share 
of  timothy  and  herds  grass  intermixed.  But  what  was  spe- 
cially interesting  to  us  was,  that,  down  low  at  the  roots  of 
the  grass,  and  here  and  there  in  moist,  rich  spots,  grew  wild 
strawberries,  large  and  juicy,  rising  on  nice  high  stalks, 
with  three  or  four  on  a  cluster.  What  joy  there  was  in  the 
possession  of  a  whole  sunny  Saturday  afternoon  to  be  spent 
with  Susie  in  this  meadow !  To  me  the  amount  of  happi- 
ness in  the  survey  was  greatly  in  advance  of  what  I  now 
have  in  the  view  of  a  three  weeks'  summer  excursion. 

When,  after  multiplied  cautious  and  directions,  and  care- 
ful adjustment  of  Susie's  clothing,  on  the  part  of  her  moth- 


!3  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

er,  Susie  was  fairly  delivered  up  to  me ;  when  we  had  turn- 
ed our  backs  on  the  house  and  got  beyond  call,  then  our 
bliss  was  complete.  How  carefully  and  patronizingly  I 
helped  her  up  the  loose,  mossy,  stone  wall,  all  hedged  with 
a  wilderness  of  golden-rod,  ferns,  raspberry  bushes,  and  as- 
ters !  Down  we  went  through  this  tangled  thicket,  into  such 
a  secure  world  of  joy,  where  the  daisied  meadow  receiv- 
ed us  to  her  motherly  bosom,  and  we  were  sure  nobody 
could  see  us. 

We  could  sit  down  and  look  upward,  and  see  daisies  and 
grasses  nodding  and  bobbing  over  our  heads,  hiding  us  as 
completely  as  two  young  grass  birds ;  and  it  was  such  fun 
to  think  that  nobody  could  find  out  where  we  were !  Two 
bob-o-liuks,  who  had  a  nest  somewhere  in  that  lot,  used  to 
mount  guard  in  an  old  apple  tree,  and  sit  on  tall,  bending 
twigs,  and  say,  "  Chack  !  chack  !  chack  ! "  and  flutter  their 
black  and  white  wings  up  and  down,  and  burst  out  into 
most  elaborate  and  complicated  babbles  of  melody.  Theso 
were  our  only  associates  and  witnesses.  We  thought  that 
they  knew  us,  and  were  glad  to  see  iis  there,  and  wouldn't 
tell  anybody  where  we  were  for  the  world.  There  was  an 
exquisite  pleasure  to  us  in  this  sense  of  utter  isolation — of 
being  hid  with  each  other  where  nobody  could  find  us. 

We  had  worlds  of  nice  secrets  peculiar  to  ourselves.  No- 
body but  ourselves  knew  where  the  "  thick  spotsr'  were, 
where  the  ripe,  scarlet  strawberries  grew ;  the  big  boys 
never  suspected  them,  we  said  to  one  another,  nor  the  big 
girls ;  it  was  our  own  secret,  which  we  kept  between  our  own 
little  selves.  How  we  searched,  and  picked,  and  chatted,  and 
oh'd  and  ah'd  to  each  other,  as  we  found  wonderful  places, 
where  the  strawberries  passed  all  oeliei' ! 

But  prof oundest  of  all  our  wonderful  secrets  were  our  dis- 
coveries in  the  region  of  animal  life.  We  found,  in  a  tuft 
of  grass  overshadowed  by  wild  roses,  a  grass  bird's  nest. 
In  vain  did  the  cunning  mother  creep  yards  from  the  cher- 
ished spot,  and  then  suddenly  fly  up  in  the  wrong  place ;  we 
were  not  to  be  deceived.  Our  busy  hands  parted  the  lace 


OUR  CHILD-EDEX.  19 

curtains  of  fern,  and,  with  whispers  of  astonishment,  we 
counted  the  little  speckled,  blucgreen  eggs.  How  round  and 
fine  and  exquisite,  past  all  gems  polished  by  art,  they  seem- 
ed ;  and  what  a  mystery  was  the  little  curious  smooth- 
lined  nest  in  which  wo  found  them  !  We  talked  to  the  birds 
encouragingly.  "  Dear  little  birds,"  we  said,  "  don't  be  afraid; 
nobody  but  we  shall  know  it ;"  and  then  we  said  to  each 
other,  "  Tom  lialliday  never  shall  find  this  out,  nor  Jim 
Fellows."  They  would  carry  oft'  the  eggs  and  tear  up  the 
nest ;  and  our  hearts  swelled  with  such  a  responsibility  for 
the  tender  secret,  that  it  was  all  we  could,  do  that  week  to 
avoid  telling  it  to  everybody  wo  met.  We  informed  all  the 
children  at  school  that  we  knew  something  that  they  didn't 
— something  that  we  never  should  tell ! — something  so  won- 
derful ! — something  that  it  would  bo  wicked  to  tell  of — for 
mother  said  so ;  for  be  it  observed  that,  like  good  children, 
we  had  taken  our  respective  mothers  into  confidence,  and 
received  the  strictest  and  most  conscientious  charges  as  to 
our  duty  to  keep  the  birds'  secret. 

In  that  enchanted  meadow  of  ours  grew  tall,  yellow  lilies, 
glowing  as  the  sunset,  hanging  down  their  bells,  six  or  seven 
in  number,  from  high,  graceful  stalks,  like  bell  towers  of 
fairy  land.  They  were  over  our  heads  sometimes,  as  they 
rose  from  the  grass  and  daisies,  and  we  looked  up  into  their 
golden  hearts  spotted  with  black,  with  a  secret,  wonder- 
ins  Joy- 

"  Oh,  don't  pick  them,  they  look  too  pretty,"  said  Susie  to 
me  once  when  I  stretched  up  my  hand  to  gather  one  of  these. 
"  Let's  leave  them  to  be  here  when  we  come  again !  I  like  to 
see  them  wave." 

And  so  we  left  the  tallest  of  them  ;  but  I  was  not  forbid- 
den to  gather  handiuls  of  the  less  wonderful  specimens  that 
grew  only  one  or  two  on  a  stalk.  Our  bouquets  of  flowers 
increased  with  our  strawberries. 

Through  the  middle  of  this  meadow  chattered  a  little 
brook,  gurgling  and  tinkling  over  many-colored  pebbles, 
and  here  and  there  collecting  itself  into  a  miniature  water- 


20  MY  WIFE  AND  L 

fall,  as  it  pitched  over  a  broken  bit  of  rock.  For  our  height 
and  si/o,  the  waterfalls  of  this  little  brook  were  equal  to 
those  of  Trenton,  or  any  of  the  medium  cascades  that  draw 
the  fashionable  crowd  of  grown-up  people;  and  what  was 
the  best  of  it  was,  it  was  our  brook,  and  our  waterfall.  We 
found  them,  and  we  verily  believed  nobody  else  but  our- 
selves knew  of  them. 

By  this  waterfall,  as  I  called  it,  which  was  certainly  a 
foot  and  a  half  high,  we  sat  and  arranged  our  strawberries 
when  our  baskets  were  full,  and  I  talked  with  Susie  about 
what  my  mother  had  told  me. 

I  can  see  her  now,  the  little  crumb  of  womanhood,  as  she 
sat,  gaily  laughing  at  me.  "She  didn't  care  a  bit,"  §ho 
said.  She  had  just  as  lief  wait  till  I  grew  to  be  a  man. 
Why,  we  could  go  to  school  together,  and  have  Saturday  af- 
ternoons together.  "  Don't  you  mind  it,  Hazzy  Dazzy,"  she 
said,  coming  close  up  to  me,  and  putting  her  little  arms  coax- 
ingly  round  my  neck ;  "  we  love  each  other,  and  it's  ever 
so  nice  now." 

I  wonder  what  the  reason  is  that  it  is  one  of  the  first 
movements  of  affectionate  feeling  to  change  the  name  of 
the  loved  one.  Give  a  baby  a  name,  ever  so  short  and  ever 
so  musical,  where  is  the  mother  that  does  not  twist  it  into 
some  other  pet  name  between  herself  and  her  child.  So  Susie, 
when  she  was  very  loving,  called  me  Hazzy,  and  sometimes 
would  play  on  my  name,  and  call  me  Hazzy  Dazzy,  and  some- 
times Dazzy,  and  we  laughed  at  this  because  it  was  between 
us ;  and  we  amused  ourselves  with  thinking  how  surprised 
people  would  be  to  hear  her  say  Dazzy,  and  how  they 
would  wonder  who  she  meant.  In  like  manner,  I  used  to  call 
her  Daisy  when  we  were  by  ourselves,  because  she  seemed  to 
me  so  neat  and  trim  and  pure,  and  wore  a  little  flat  hat  en 
Sundays  just  like  a  daisy. 

"  I'll  tell  you,  Daisy,"  said  I,  "just  what  I'm  going  to  do 
—I'm  going  to  grow  strong  as  Sampson  did." 

"  Oh,  but  how  can  you  ?"  she  suggested,  doubtfully. 

"  Oh,  I'm  going  to  run  and  jump  and  climb,  and  cariy  ever 


OUR  CHILD-EDEN.  21 

so  much  water  for  Mother,  and  I'm  to  ride  on  horseback 
and  go  to  mill,  and  go  all  round  on  errands,  and  so  1  shall 
get  to  be  a  man  fast,  and  when  I  get  to  be  a  man  I'll  build 
a  house  ail  on  purpose  for  you  and  me — I'll  build  it  all  my- 
self; it  shall  have  a  parlor  arid  a  dining-room  and  kitchen, 
and  bed-room,  and  well-room,  and  chambers"— 

"  And  nice  closets  to  put  things  in,"  suggested  the  little 
woman. 

"Certainly,  ever  so  many— just  where  3^011  want  them, 
there  I'll  put  them,"  said  I,  with  surpassing  liberality.  "  And 
then,  when  we  live  together,  I'll  take  care  of  you — I'll  keep 
oft'  all  the  lions  and  bears  and  panthers.  If  a  bear  should 
come  at  you,  Daisy,  I  should  tear  him  right  in  two,  just 
as  Sampson  did." 

At  this  vivid  picture,  Daisy  nestled  close  to  my  shoulder, 
and  her  eyes  grew  large  and  reflective.  "We  shouldn't 
leave  poor  Mother  alone,"  said  she. 

"  Oh,  no  ;  she  shall  come  and  live  with  us,"  said  I,  with  an 
exalted  generosity.  "  I  will  make  her  a  nice  chamber  011 
purpose,  and  my  mother  shall  come,  too." 

"  But  she  can't  leave  your  father,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  father  shall  come,  too — when  he  gets  old  and  can't 
preach  any  more.  I  shall  take  care  of  them  all." 

And  my  little  Daisy  looked  at  me  with  eyes  of  approving 
credulity,  and  said  I  was  a  brave  boy ;  and  the  bobolinks 
chittered  and  chattered  applause  as  they  sung  and  skirmish- 
ed and  whirled  up  over  the  meadow  grasses ;  and  by  and  by, 
when  the  sun  fell  low,  and  looked  like  a  great  golden  ball, 
with  our  hands  full  of  lilies,  and  our  baskets  full  of  straw- 
berries, we  climbed  over  the  old  wall,  and  toddled  home. 

After  that,  I  remember  many  gay  and  joyous  passages 
in  that  happiest  summer  of  my  life.  How,  when  autumn 
came,  we  roved  through  the  woods  together,  and  gathered 
Much  stores  of  glossy  brown  chestnuts.  What  joy  it  was  to 
us  to  scuff  through  the  painted  fallen  leaves  and  send  them 
Hying  like  showers  of  jewels  before  us!  How  I  reconnoitered 
and  marked  available  chestnut  trees,  and  how  I  gloried  in 


22  MY  WIFE  AND  L 

being  able  to  climb  like  a  cat,  and  get  astride  high  limbs 
and  shako  and  beat  them,  and  hear  the  glossy  brown  nuts 
fall  with  a  rich,  heavy  thud  below,  while  Susie  was  busily 
picking  up  at  the  foot  of  the  tree.  How  she  did  flatter  rne 
with  my  success  and  prowess  !  Tom  Halliday  might  be  a, 
bigger  boy,  but  he  could  never  go  up  a  tree  as  I  could;  and 
as  for  that  great  clumsy  Jim  Fellows,  she  laughed  to 
think  what  a  ligure  he  would  make,  going  out  on  the  end 
of  the  small  limbs,  which  would  be  sure  to  break  and  send 
him  bundling  down.  The  picture  which  Susie  drew  of  the 
awkwardness  of  the  big  boys  often  made  us  laugh  till  the 
tears  rolled  down  our  cheeks.  To  this  day  I  observe  it  as  a 
weakness  of  my  sex  that  we  all  take  it  in  extremely  good 
part  when  the  pretty  girl  of  our  heart  laughs  at  other  fel- 
lows in  a  snug,  quiet  way,  just  between  one's  dear  self  and 
herself  alone.  We  encourage  our  own  dear  little  cat  to 
scratch  and  claw  the  sacred  memories  of  Jim  or  Tom,  and 
think  that  she  does  it  in  an  extremely  cunning  and  divert- 
ing way— it  being  understood  between  us  that  there  is  no 
malice  in  it — that  "Jim  and  Tom  are  nice  fellows  enough, 
you  know — only  that  somebody  else  is  so  superior  to  them," 
etc. 

Susie  and  I  considered  ourselves  as  an  extremely  forehand- 
ed, well-to-do  partnership,  in  the  matter  of  gathering  in  our 
autumn  stores.  No  pair  of  chipmonks  in  the  neighborhood 
conducted  business  with  more  ability.  We  had  a  famous 
cellar  that  I  dug  and  stoned, -where  we  stored  awray  our 
spoils.  We  had  chestnuts  and  walnuts  and  butternuts,  as 
we  said,  to  last  us  all  winter,  and  many  an  earnest  consulta- 
tion and  many  a  busy  hour  did  the  gathering  and  arranging 
of  these  spoils  cost  us.  I 

Then,  oh,  the  golden  times  we  had  when  father's  barrels  of 
new  cider  came  home  from  the  press  !  How  I  cut  and  gath- 
ered and  selected  bunches  of  choice  straws,  which  I  took  to 
school  and  showed  to  Susie,  surreptitiously,  at  intervals,  dur- 
ing school  exercises,  that  she  might  see  what  a  provision  of 
bliss  1  was  making  for  Saturday  afternoons.  How  Susie  was 


OC7.R  CHILD-EDEN.  23 

sent  to  visit  us  on  these  occasions,  in  leather  shoes  and 
checked  apron,  so  that  we  might  go  in  the  cellar  ;  and  how, 
mounted  up  on  logs  on  either  side  of  a  barrel  of  cider, 
we  plunged  our  straws  through  the  foamy  mass  at  the  bung- 
hole,  and  drew  out  long  draughts  of  sweet  cider !  1  was  sure 
to  get  myself  dirty  in  my  zeal,  which  she  never  did;  and 
then  she  would  laugh  at  me  and  patronize  me,  and  wipe  me 
up  in  a  motherly  sort  of  way.  "  How  do  you  always  get  so 
dirty,  Harry  f  she  would  say,  in  a  truly  maternal  tone  of  re- 
proof. "  How  do  you  keep  so  clean  ?"  I  would  say,  in  won- 
der ;  and  she  would  laugh,  and  call  me  her  dear,  dirty  boy. 
She  would  often  laugh  at  me,  the  little  elf,  and  make  herself 
distractingly  merry  at  my  expense,  but  the  moment  she  saw 
that  the  blood  was  getting  too  high  in  my  cheeks,  she  would 
stroke  me  down  with  praises,  as  became  a  wise  young  daugh- 
ter of  Eve. 

Besides  all  this,  she  had  her  little  airs  of  moral  superiori- 
ty, and  used  occasionally  to  lecture  me  in  the  nicest  manner. 
Being  an  only  darling,  she  herself  was  brought  up  in  the 
strictest  ways  in  which  little  feet  could  go ;  and  the  nicety 
of  her  conscience  was  as  unsullied  as  that  of  her  dress.  I 
was  hot  tempered  and  heady,  and  under  stress  of  great  prov- 
ocation would  come  as  near  swearing  as  a  minister's  son 
could  possibly  do.  When  the  big  boys  ravaged  our  house 
under  the  tree,  or  threw  sticks  at  us,  I  used  to  stretch  every 
permitted  limit,  and  scream,  "Darn  you!*'  and  "Confound 
you !"  with  a  vigor  and  emphasis  that  made  it  almost  equal 
to  something  a  good  deal  stronger. 

On  such  occasions  Susie  would  listen  pale  and  frightened, 
and,  when  reason  came  back  to  me,  gravely  lecture  me, 
and  bring  me  into  the  paths  of  virtue.  She  used  to  rehearse 
to  me  the  teachings  of  her  mother  about  all  manner  of  good 
things. 

1  have  her  image  now  in  my  mind,  looking  so  crisp  and 
composed  and  neat  in  her  sobriety,  repeating,  for  iny  edifi- 
cation, the  hyinn  which  contained  the  good  child's  ideal  in 
those  days : 


24  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

"  Oh,  that  it  were  my  chief  delight 

To  do  the  things  I  ought, 
Then  let  me  try  with  all  my  might 
To  mind  what  I  am  taught. 

Whene'er  I'm  told,  I'll  freely  bring 

Whatever  I  have  got, 
And  never  touch  a  pretty  thing, 

When  mother  tells  me  not. 

If  she  permits  me,  I  may  tell 

About  my  little  toys, 
But  if  she's  busy  or  unwell, 

I  must  not  make  a  noise." 

I  can  hear  now  the  delicious  lisp  of  my  little  saint,  and 
see  the  gracious  gravity  of  her  manner.  To  my  mind,  she 
was  unaccountably  well  established  in  the  ways  of  virtue, 
and  I  listened  to  her  little  lectures  with  a  secret  reverence. 

Susie  was  especially  careful  in  the  observation  of  Sun- 
day, and  as  that  is  a  point  where  children  are  apt  to  be 
particularly  weak,  she  would  exhort  me  to  rigorous  exact- 
itude. 

I  kept  it,  first,  by  thinking  that  I  should  see  her  at  church, 
and  by  growing  very  precise  about  my  Sunday  clothes, 
whereat  my  sisters  winked  at  each  other  and  laughed  slyly. 
Then  at  church  we  sat  in  great  square  pews  adjoining  to 
each  other.  It  was  my  pleasure  to  peep  through  tho  slats  at 
Susie.  She  was  wonderful  to  behold  then,  all  in  white,  with 
a  profusion  of  blue  ribbons  and  her  little  flat  hat  over  her 
curls— and  a  pair  of  dainty  blue  shoes  peeping  out  from  her 
dress. 

Sfie  informed  me  that  little  girls  never  must  think  about 
their  clothes  in  meeting,  and  so  I  supposed  she  was  trying  to 
be  entirely  absorbed  from  earthly  vanities,  unconscious  of 
the  fixed  and  earnest  stare  with  which  I  followed  every 
movement. 

Human  nature  is  but  partially  sanctified,  however,  in  little 
saints  as  well  as  grown  up  ones,  and  I  noticed  that  occa- 
sionally, probably  by  accident,  the  great  blue  eyes  met  mine, 
and  a  smile,  almost  amounting  to  a  sinful  giggle,  was  with 
difficulty  choked  down.  She  was,  however,  a  most  conicien- 


OUR   CHILD-EDEN.  25 

tions  little  puss  and  recovered  herself  in  a  moment,  nml 
looked  gravely  upward  at  the  minister,  not  one  word  of 
whose  sermon  could  she  by  any  possibility  understand, 
severely  devoting  herself  to  her  religious  duties,  till  ex- 
hausted nature  gave  way.  The  little  lids  would  close  over 
the  eyes  like  blue  pimpernel  before  a  shower, — the  head 
would  drop  and  nod,  till  finally  the  mother  would  dispense 
the  little  Christian  from  further  labors,  by  laying  her  head 
on  her  lap  and  drawing  her  feet  up  comfortably  upon  the 
seat,  to  sleep  out  to  the  end  of  the  sermon. 

When  winter  came  on  I  beset  my  older  brother  to  make 
me  a  sled.  Sleds,  such  as  every  boy  in  Boston  or  New  York 
now  rejoices  in,  were  blessings  in  our  parts  unknown  ;  our 
sled  was  of  rough,  domestic  manufacture. 

My  brother,  laughing,  asked  if  my  sled  was  intended  to 
draw  Susie  on,  and  on  my  earnest  response  in  the  affirmative 
he  amused  himself  with  painting  it  in  colors,  red  and  blue, 
most  glorious  to  behold. 

My  soul  was  magnified  within  me  when  I  first  started 
with  this  stylish  establishment  to  wait  on  Susie. 

What  young  fellow  does  not  exult  in  a  smart  team  when 
he  has  a  girl  whom  he  wants  to  dazzle?  Great  was  my  joy 
and  pride  when  I  first  stopped  at  Susie's  and  told  her  to 
hurry  on  her  things,  for  I  had  come  to  draw  her  to  school ! 

What  a  pretty  picture  she  made  in  her  little  blue  knit 
hood  and  mittens,  her  bright  curls  flying  and  cheeks  glow- 
ing with  the  keen  winter  air !  There  was  a  long  hill  on  the 
v,  ay  to  school,  and  seated  on  the  sled  behind  her,  I  careered 
gloriously  down  with  exultation  in  my  breast,  while  a 
stream  of  laughter  floated  on  the  breeze  behind  us.  That 
was  a  winter  of  much  coasting  down  hill,  of  red  cheeks  and 
red  noses,  of  cold  toes,  which  we  never  minded,  and  of  abun- 
dant jollity.  Susie,  under  her  mother's  careful  showing, 
knit  me  a  pair  of  red  mittens,  wanning  to  the  heart  and 
delightful  to  the  eyes  ;  and  I  piled  up  wood  and  carried 
watei  for  Mother,  and  by  vigorous  economy  earned  money 
enough  to  buy  Susie  a  great  candy  heart  as  big  as  my  two 


20  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

hands,  that  had  the  picture  of  two  doves  tied  together  by  a 
blue  ribbon  on  one  side,  and  on  the  other  two  very  red 
hearts  skewered  together  by  an  arrow. 

No  work  of  art  ever  gave  greater  and  more  unminpled 
delight.  Susie  gave  it  a  prominent  place  in  her  baby-house, 
— and  though  it  was  undeniably  sweet,  as  certain  little  nib- 
bling trials  on  its  edges  had  proved,  yet  the  artistic  sense 
was  stronger  than  the  palate,  and  the  candy  heart  was  kept 
to  be  looked  at  and  rejoiced  in. 

Susie's  mother  was  an  intimate  and  confidential  friend  of 
my  mother,  and  a  most  docile  and  confiding  sheep  of  my 
father's  flock.  She  regarded  her  minister's  family,  and  all 
that  belonged  to  it,  as  something  set  apart  and  sacred.  My 
mother  had  imparted  to  her  the  little  joke  of  my  matrimo- 
nial wishes,  and  the  two  matrons  had  laughed  over  it  to- 
gether, and  then  sighed,  and  said,  "  Ah !  well,  stranger 
things  have  happened."  Susie's  mother  told  how  she  used 
to  know  her  husband  when  he  was  a  little  boy,  and  what  if 
it  should  be!  and  then  they  strayed  on  to  the  general  truth 
that  this  was  a  world  of  uncertainty,  and  we  never  can  tell 
what  a  day  may  bring  forth. 

Our  little  idyl,  too,  was  rather  encouraged  by  my  brothers 
and  sisters,  who  made  a  pet  and  plaything  of  Susie,  and 
diverted  themselves  by  the  gravit}r  and  honesty  with  which 
we  devoted  ourselves  to  each  other.  Oh !  dear  ignorant 
days— sweet  little  child-Eden — why  could  it  not  last  ? 

But  it  could  not.  It  was  fleeting  as  the  bobolink's  song, 
as  the  spotted  yellow  lilies,  as  the  grass  and  daisies.  My 
little  Daisy  was  too  dear  to  the  angels  to  be  spared  to  grow 
up  in  our  coarse  world. 

The  winter  passed  and  spring  came,  and  Susie  and  I 
rejoiced  in  the  first  bluebird,  and  found  blue  and  white  vio- 
lets together,  and  went  to  school  together,  till  the  heats  of 
summer  came  on.  Then  a  sad  epidemic  began  to  linger 
around  in  our  mountains,  and  to  be  heard  of  in  neighboring 
villages,  and  my  poor  Daisy  was  scorched  by  its  breath. 

I  remember   well   our  last   afternoon   together  in   the 


OUR  CHILD-EDEN.  27 

meadow,  where,  the  year  before,  we  had  gathered  straw- 
berries. We  went  down  into  it  in  high  spirits ;  the  straw- 
berries were  abundant,  and  we  chatted  and  picked  together 
gaily,  till  Daisy  began  to  complain  that  her  head  ached 
and  her  throat  was  sore.  I  sat  her  down  by  the  brook,  and 
wet  her  curls  with  the  water,  and  told  her  to  rest  there,  and 
let  me  pick  for  her.  But  pretty  soon  she  called  me.  She 
was  crying  with  pain.  "  Oh !  Hazzy,  dear,  I  must  go  home," 
she  said.  "  Take  me  to  Mother."  I  hurried  to  help  her,  for 
she  cried  and  moaned  so  that  I  was  frightened.  I  began  to 
cry,  too,  and  we  came  up  the  steps  of  her  mother's  house 
sobbing  together. 

When  her  mother  came  out  the  little  one  suppressed  her 
tears  and  distress  for  a  moment,  and  turning,  threw  her 
arms  around  my  neck  and  kissed  me.  "  Do  n't  cry  any  more, 
Hazzy,"  she  said  ;  "  we'll  see  each  other  again." 

Her  mother  took  her  up  in  her  arms  and  earned  her  in, 
and  I  never  saw  my  little  baby- wife  again  on  this  earth ! 
Not  where  the  daisies  and  buttercups  grew ;  nor  where  the 
golden  lilies  shook  their  bells,  and  the  bobolinks  trilled; 
not  in  the  school-room,  with  its  many  child- voices ;  not  in 
the  old  square  pew  in  church — never,  never  more  that  trim 
little  maiden  form,  those  violet  blue  eyes,  those  golden  curls 
of  hair,  were  to  be  seen  on  earth ! 

My  Daisy's  last  kisses,  with  the  fever  throbbing  in  her 
veins,  very  nearly  took  me  with  her.  From  that  time  I  have 
only  indistinct  remembrances  of  going  home  crying,  of  turn- 
ing with  a  strange  loathing  from  my  supper,  of  creeping  up 
and  getting  into  bed,  shivering  and  burning,  with  a  thump- 
ing and  beating  pain  in  my  head. 

The  next  morning  the  family  doctor  pronounced  me  a  case 
of  the  epidemic  (scarlet  fever)  which  he  said  was  all  about 
among  children  in  the  neighborhood. 

1  have  dim,  hot,  hazy  recollections  of  burning,  thirsty, 
hoad-achey  days,  when  I  longed  for  cold  water,  and  could 
not  get  a  drop,  according  to  the  good  old  rules  of  medical 
practice  in  those  times.  I  dimly  observed  different  people 


28  3/r  WIFE  AND  I. 

sitting  up  with  me  every  night,  and  putting  different  med- 
icines in  my  unresisting  mouth  ;  and  day  crept  slowly  after 
day,  and  I  lay  idly  watching:  the  rays  of  sunlight  and  flutter 
of  leaves  on  the  opposite  wall. 

One  afternoon,  I  remember,  as  I  lay  thus  listless,  I  heard 
the  village  bell  strike  slowly — six  times.  The  sound  wav- 
ered and  trembled  with  long  and  solemn  intervals  of  shiv- 
ering vibration  between.  It  was  the  numbering  of  my 
Daisy's  little  years  on  earth, — the  announcement  that  she 
had  gone  to  the  land  where  time  is  no  more  measured  by 
day  and  night,  for  there  shall  be  no  night  there. 

When  I  was  well  again  I  remember  my  mother  told  me 
that  my  little  Daisy  was  in  heaven,  and  I  heard  it  with  a 
dull,  cold  chill  about  my  heart,  and  wondered  that  I  could 
not  cry. 

I  look  back  now  into  my  little  heart  as  it  was  then,  and 
remember  the  paroxysms  of  silent  pain  I  used  to  have  at 
times,  deep  within,  while  yet  I  seemed  to  be  like  any  other 
boy. 

I  heard  my  sisters  one  day  discussing  whether  I  cared 
much  for  Daisy's  death. 

"  He  don't  seem  to,  much,"  said  one. 

"Oh,  children  are  little  animals,  they  forget  what's  out 
of  sight,"  said  another. 

But  I  did  not  forget,— I  could  not  bear  to  go  to  the 
meadow  where  we  gathered  strawberries, — to  the  chestnut 
trees  where  we  had  gathered  nuts,— and  oftentimes,  sud- 
denly, in  work  or  play,  that  smothering  sense  of  a  past, 
forever  gone,  came  over  me  like  a  physical  sickness. 

When  children  grow  up  among  older  people  and  are 
pushed  and  jostled,  and  set  aside  in  the  more  engrossing 
interests  of  their  elders,  there  is  an  almost  incredible  amount 
of  timidity  and  dumbness  of  nature,  with  regard  to  the 
expression  of  inward  feeling,— and  yet,  often  at  this  time  the 
instinctive  sense  of  pleasure  and  pain  is  fearfully  acute. 
But  the  child  has  imperfectly  learned  language.  His  stock 
of  words,  as  yet,  consists  only  iu  names  and  attributes  of 


OUR  CHILD-EDEN  29 

outward  and  physical  objects,  and  he  has  no  phraseology 
with  which  to  embody  a  more  emotional  experience. 

What  I  felt  when  I  thought  of  my  little  playfellow,  was  a 
dizzying,  choking  rush  of  bitter  pain  and  anguish.  Children 
can  feel  this  acutely  as  men  and  women, — but  even  in  mature 
life  this  experience  has  no  gift  of  expression. 

My  mother  alone,  with  the  divining  power  of  mothers, 
kept  an  eye  on  me.  "Who  knows,"  she  said  to  my  father, 
"  but  this  death  may  be  a  heavenly  call  to  him." 

She  sat  down  gently  by  my  bed  one  night  and  talked  with 
me  of  heaven,  and  the  brightness  and  beauty  there,  and  told 
me  that  little  Susie  was  now  a  fair  white  angel. 

I  remember  shaking  with  a  tempest  of  sobs. 

"  But  I  want  her  here"  I  said.  "  I  want  to  see  her." 

My  mother  went  over  all  the  explanations  in  the  premises, 
— all  that  can  ever  be  said  in  such  cases,  but  I  only  sobbed 
the  more. 

"  /  can't  see  her  I    Oh  mother,  mother !" 

That  night  I  sobbed  myself  to  sleep  and  dreamed  a  blessed 
dream. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  I  was  again  in  our  meadow,  and  that 
it  was  fairer  than  ever  before ;  the  sun  shone  gaily,  the  sky 
was  blue,  and  our  great,  golden  lily  stocks  seemed  mysteri- 
ously bright  and  fair,  but  I  was  wandering  lonesome  and 
solitary.  Then  suddenly  my  little  Daisy  came  running  to 
meet  me  in  her  pink  dress  and  white  apron,  with  her  golden 
curls  hanging  down  her  neck.  "  Oh  Daisy,  Daisy  !"  said  I 
running  up  to  her.  "  Are  you  alive  ? — they  told  me  that  you 
were  dead," 

"  No,  Hazzy,  dear,  I  am  not  dead, — never  you  believe  that," 
she  said,  and  I  felt  the  clasp  of  her  soft  little  arms  round 
my  neck.  "  Didn't  I  tell  you  we'd  see  each  other  again  f 

"  But  they  told  me  you  were  dead,"  I  said  in  wonder — and 
I  thought  I  held  her  off  and  looked  at  her, — she  laughed 
gently  at  me  as  she  often  used  to,  but  her  lovely  eyes  had  a 
mysterious  power  that  seemed  to  thrill  all  through  me. 

"  1  am  not  dead,  dear  Hazzy,"  she  said.    "  We  never  die 


30  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

where  I  am— I  shall  love  you  always,"  and  with  that  my 
dream  wavered  and  grew  misty  as  when  clear  water  breaks 
an  image  into  a  thousand  glassy  rings  and  fragments. 

I  thought  I  heard  lovely  music,  and  felt  soft,  clasping 
arms,  and  I  awoke  with  a  sense  of  being  loved  and  pitied, 
and  comforted. 

I  cannot  describe  the  vivid,  penetrating  sense  of  reality 
\vhicli  this  dream  left  behind  it.  It  seemed  to  warm  my 
whole  life,  and  to  give  back  to  my  poor  little  heart  some- 
thing that  had  been  rudely  torn  away  from  it.  Perhaps 
there  is  no  reader  that  has  not  had  experiences  of  the 
wonderful  power  which  a  dream  often  exercises  over  the 
waking  hours  for  weeks  after — and  it  will  not  appear  in- 
credible that  after  that,  instead  of  shunning  the  meadow 
where  we  used  to  play,  it  was  my  delight  to  wander  there 
alone,  to  gather  the  strawberries — tend  the  birds'  nests,  and 
lie  down  on  my  back  in  the  grass  and  look  up  into  the  blue 
sky  through  an  overarching  roof  of  daisies,  with  a  strange 
sort  of  feeling  of  society,  as  if  my  little  Daisy  were  with  me. 

And  is  it  not  perhaps  so?  Right  along  side  of  this 
troublous  life,  that  is  seen  and  temporal,  may  lie  the  green 
pastures  and  the  still  waters  of  the  unseen  and  eternal,  and 
they  who  know  us  better  than  we  know  them,  can  at  any 
time  step  across  that  little  rill  that  we  call  Death,  to-  minis- 
ter to  our  comfort. 

For  what  are  these  child-angels  made,  that  are  sent  down 
to  this  world  to  bring  so  much  love  and  rapture,  and  go 
from  us  in  such  bitterness  and  mourning  ?  If  we  believe 
in  Almighty  Love  we  must  believe  that  they  have  a  merci- 
ful and  tender  mission  to  our  wayward  souls.  The  love 
wherewith  we  love  them  is  something  the  most  utterly  pure 
and  unworldly  of  which  human  experience  is  capable,  and 
we  must  hope  that  every  one  who  goes  from  us  to  the  world 
of  light,  goes  holding  an  invisible  chain  of  love  by  which  to 
draw  us  there. 

Sometimes  I  think  I  would  never  have  had  my  little 
Daisy  grow  older  on  our  earth.  The  little  child  dies  in 


OUR  CHILD-EDEN.  31 

growing  into  womanhood,  and  often  the  woman  is  far  less 
lovely  than  the  little  child.  It  seems  to  me  that  lovely  and 
loving  childhood,  with  its  truthfulness,  its  frank  sincerity, 
its  pure,  simple  love,  is  so  sweet  and  holy  an  estate  that  it 
would  be  a  beautiful  thing  in  heaven  to  have  a  band  of 
heavenly  children,  guileless,  gay  and  forever  joyous— tender 
Spring  blossoms  of  the  Kingdom  of  Light.  Was  it  of  such 
whom  he  had  left  in  his  heavenly  home  our  Saviour  was 
thinking,  when  he  took  little  children  iip  in  his  arms  and 
blessed  them,  and  said,  "Of  such  is  the  Kingdom  of 
Heaven?" 


32  3f  lr  WIFE  AND  I. 


CHAPTER     IV. 


MY       SHADOW -WIFE. 

Shadow  Wife !  Is  there  then  substance  in  shad- 
ow ?  Yea,  there  may  be.  A  shadow— a  spiritual 
presence — may  go  with  us  where  mortal  footsteps 
cannot  go ;  walk  by  our  side  amid  the  roar  of  the  city:  talk 
with  us  amid  the  sharp  clatter  of  voices ;  come  to  us  through 
closed  doors,  as  we  sit  alone  over  our  evening  fire ;  counsel, 
bless,  inspire  us ;  and  though  the  figure  cannot  be  clasped 
in  mortal  arms— though  the  face  be  veiled— yet  this  wife  of 
the  future  may  have  a  power  to  bless,  to  guide,  to  sustain 
and  console.  Such  was  the  dream -wife  of  my  youth. 

Whence  did  she  come  ?  She  rose  like  a  white,  pure  mist 
from  that  little  grave.  She  formed  herself  like  a  cloud- 
maiden  from  the  rain  and  dew  of  those  first  tears. 

When  we  look  at  the  apparent  recklessness  with  which 
great  sorrows  seem  to  be  distributed  among  the  children  of 
the  earth,  there  is  no  way  to  keep  our  faith  in  a  Fatherly 
love,  except  to  recognize  how  invariably  the  sorrows  that 
spring  from  love  are  a  means  of  enlarging  and  dignifying  a 
human  being.  Nothing  great  or  good  comes  without  birth- 
pangs,  and  in  just  the  proportion  that  natures  grow  more 
noble,  their  capacities  of  suffering  increase. 

The  bitter,  silent,  irrepressible  anguish  of  that  childish  be- 
reavement was  to  me  the  akwakening  of  a  spiritual  nature. 
The  little  creature  who,  had  she  lived,  might  have  grown 
up  perhaps  into  a  common-place  woman,  became  a  fixed  star 
in  the  heaven-land  of  the  ideal,  always  drawing  me  to  look 
upward.  My  memories  of  her  were  a  spring  of  refined  and 
tender  feebng,  through  all  my  early  life.  I  could  not  then 


SHADOW-WIFE. 


write;  but  I  remember  that  th^  overflow  of  my  heart 
towards  her  memory  required  expression,  and  I  taught  my- 
self a  strange  kind  of  manuscript,  by  copying  the  letters  of 
the  alphabet.  I  bought  six  cents'  worth  of  paper  and  a 
tallow  candle  at  the  store,  which  I  used  to  light  surrep- 
titiously when  I  had  been  put  to  bed  nights,  and,  sitting  up 
in  my  little  night-gown,  I  busied  myself  with  writing  my 
remembrances  of  her.  I  could  not,  for  the  world,  have 
asked  my  mother  to  let  me  have  a  candle  in  my  bed-room 
after  eight  o'clock.  I  would  have  died  sooner  than  to  explain 
why  I  wanted  it.  My  purchase  of  paper  and  candle  was  my 
first  act  of  independent  manliness.  The  money,  I  reflected, 
was  mine,  because  I  earned  it  myself,  and  the  paper  was 
mine,  and  the  candle  was  mine,  so  that  I  was  not  using  my 
father's  property  in  an  unwarrantable  manner,  and  thus  I 
gave  myself  up  to  my  inspirations.  I  wrote  my  remem- 
brances of  her,  as  she  stood  among  the  daisies  and  the 
golden  lilies.  I  wrote  down  her  little  words  of  wisdom  and 
grave  advice,  in  the  queerest  manuscript  that  ever  puzzled 
a  wise  man  of  the  East.  If  one  imagines  that  all  this  was 
spelt  phonetically,  and  not  at  all  in  the  unspeakable  and 
astonishing  way  in  which  the  English  language  is  conven- 
tionally spelt,  one  may  truly  imagine  that  it  was  something 
rather  peculiar  in  the  way  of  literature.  But  the  heart-com- 
fort, the  utter  abandonment  of  soul  that  went  into  it,  is 
something  that  only  those  can  imagine  who  have  tried  the 
like  and  found  the  relief  of  it.  My  little  heart  was  like  the 
Caspian  sea,  or  some  other  sea  which  I  read  about,  which 
had  found  a  secret  channel  by  which  its  waters  could  pass 
off  under  ground.  When  I  had  finished,  every  evening,  I 
used  to  extinguish  my  candle,  and  put  it  and  my  manuscript 
inside  of  the  straw  bed  on  which  I  slept,  which  had  a  long 
pocket  hole  in  the  centre,  secured  by  buttons,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  stirring  the  straw.  Over  this  I  slept  in  conscious 
security,  every  night  ;  sometimes  with  blissful  dreams  of 
going  to  brighter  meadows,  when  I  saw  my  Daisy  playing 
with  whole  troops  of  beautiful  childreu,  fair  as  water  lilies 


31  MY  WIFE  AND  I 

on  the  shore  of  a  blue  Isike.  Thus,  while  I  seemed  to  be  like 
any  other  boy,  thinking  of  nothing  but  my  sled,  and  my  bat 
and  ball,  and  my  mittens,  I  began  to  have  a  little  withdraw- 
ing1 room  of  my  own ;  another  land  in  which  I  could  walk 
and  take  a  kind  of  delight  that  nothing  visible  gave  me. 
But  one  day  my  oldest  sister,  in  making  the  bed,  with 
domestic  thoroughness,  disemboweled  my  whole  store  of 
manuscripts  and  the  half  consumed  fragment  of  my  candle. 

There  is  no  poetry  in  housewifery,  and  my  sister  at  once 
took  a  housewifely  view  of  the  proceeding — 

"Well,  now!  is  there  any  end  to  the  conjurations  of 
boys  ?"  she*  said.  "  He  might  have  set  the  house  on  fire  and 
burned  us  all  alive,  in  our  beds !" 

Reader,  this  is  quite  possible,  as  I  used  to  perform  jny 
literary  labors  sitting  up  in  bed,  with  the  candle  standing 
on  a  narrow  ledge  on  the  side  of  the  bedstead. 

Forthwith  the  whole  of  my  performance  was  lodged  in 
my  mother's  hands — I  was  luckily  at  school. 

''Now,  girls,"  said  my  mother,  "keep  quiet  about  this; 
above  all,  don't  say  a  word  to  the  boy.  I  will  speak  to 
him." 

Accordingly,  that  night  after  I  had  gone  up  to  bed,  my 
mother  came  into  my  room  and,  when  she  had  seen  me  in 
bed,  she  sat  down  by  me  and  told  me  the  whole  discovery. 
I  hid  my  head  under  the  bed  clothes,  and  felt  a  sort  of  burn- 
ing shame  and  mortification  that  was  inexpressible ;  but  she 
had  a  good  store  of  that  mother's  wit  and  wisdom  by  which 
I  was  to  be  comforted.  At  last  she  succeeded  in  drawing 
both  the  bed  clothes  from  my  face  and  the  veil  from  my 
heart,  and  I  told  her  all  my  little  story. 

"  Dear  boy,"  she  said,  "  you  must  learn  to  write,  and  you 
need  not  buy  candles,  you  shall  sit  by  me  evenings  and  I 
will  teach  you ;  it  was  very  nice  of  you  to  practice  all  alone ; 
but  it  will  be  a  great  deal  easier  to  let  me  teach  you  the 
writing  letters." 

Now  I  had  begun  the  usual  course  of  writing  copies  in 
school.  In  those  days  it  was  deemed  necessary  to  com- 


MY  SHADOW-WIFE.  35 

inence  by  teaching  what  was  called  .coarse  hand ;  and  I  had 
filled  many  dreary  pages  with  m's  and  u's  of  a,  gigantic  size ; 
but  it  never  had  yet  occurred  to  me  that  the  writing  of 
these  copies  was  to  bear  any  sort  of  relation  to  the  expres- 
sion of  thoughts  and  emotions  within  me  that  were  clamor- 
ing for  a  vent,  while  my  rnde  copies  of  printed  letters  did 
bear  to  my  mind  this  adaptation.  But  now  my  mother 
made  me  sit  by  her  evenings,  with  a  slate  and  pencil,  and, 
under  her  care,  I  made  a  cross-cut  into  the  fields  of  practical 
handwriting,  and  was  also  saved  the  dangers  of  going  oft' 
into  a  morbid  habit  of  feeling,  which  might  easily  have 
arisen  from  my  solitary  reveries. 

"  Dear,"  she  said  to  my  father,  "  I  told  you  this  one  was 
to  be  our  brightest.  He  will  make  a  writer  yet,"  and  she 
showed  him  my  manuscript. 

"  You  must  look  after  him,  Mother,"  said  my  father,  as  ho 
always  said,  when  there  arose  any  exigency  about  the  chil- 
dren, that  required  delicate  handling. 

My  mother  was  one  of  that  class  of  women  whose  power 
on  earth  seems  to  be  only  the  greater  for  being  a  spiritual 
and  invisible  one.  The  control  of  such  women  over  men  is 
like  that  of  the  soul  over  the  body.  The  body  is  visible, 
forceful,  obtrusive,  self -asserting.  The  soul  invisible,  sensi- 
tive, yet  with  a  subtle  and  vital  power  which  constantly 
gains  control  and  holds  every  inch  that  it  gains. 

My  father  was  naturally  impetuous,  though  magnanimous, 
hasty  tempered  and  imperious,  though  conscientious  ;  my 
mother  united  the  most  exquisite  sensibility  with  the 
deepest  calm — calm  resulting  from  habitual  communion 
with  the  highest  and  purest  source  of  all  rest — the  peace 
that  passeth  all  understanding.  Gradually,  by  this  spiritual 
force,  this  quietude  of  soul,  she  became  his  leader  and 
guide.  He  held  her  hand  and  looked  up  to  her  with  a 
trustful  implicitness  that  increased  with  every  year. 

"Where's  your  mother?"  was  always  the  fond  inquiry 
when  he  entered  the  house,  after  having  been  off  on  one  of 
his  long  preaching  tours  or  clerical  counsels.  At  all  hours 


86  )[  V  WIFE  AND  I. 

he  would  burst  from  his  study  with  fragments  of  the  sermon 
or  letter  ho  was  writing,  to  read  to  her  and  receive  her  sug- 
gestions and  criticisms.  With  her  he  discussed  the  plans 
of  his  discourses,  and  at  her  dictation  changed,  improved, 
altered  and  added ;  and  under  the  brooding  influence  of  her 
mind,  new  and  finer  traits  of  tenderness  and  spirituality 
pervaded  his  character  and  his  teachings.  In  fact,  my 
father  once  said  to  me,  "  She  made  me  by  her  influence." 

In  these  days,  we  sometimes  hear  women,  who  have  reared 
large  families  on  small  means,  spoken  of  as  victims  who  had 
suffered  unheard  of  oppressions.  There  is  a  growing  mate- 
rialism that  refuses  to  believe  that  there  can  be  happiness 
without  the  ease  and  facilities  and  luxuries  of  wealth. 

But  my  father  and  mother,  though  living  on  a  narrow 
income,  were  never  really  poor.  The  chief  evil  of  poverty 
is  the  crushing  of  ideality  out  of  life — the  taking  away  its 
poetry  and  substituting  hard  prose ; — and  this  with  them 
was  impossible.  My  father  loved  the  work  he  did,  as  the 
artist  loves  his  painting  and  the  sculptor  his  chisel.  A  man 
needs  less  money  when  he  is  doing  only  what  he  loves  to 
do — what,  in  fact,  he  must  do, — pay  or  no  pay.  St.  Paul  said, 
"  A  necessity  is  laid  upon  me,  yea,  woe  is  me,  if  I  preach  not 
the  gospel."  Preaching  the  gospel  was  his  irrepressible 
instinct,  a  necessity  of  his  being.  My  mother,  from  her 
deep  spiritual  nature,  was  one  soul  with  my  father  in  his 
life-work.  With  the  moral  organization  of  a  prophetess,  she 
stood  nearer  to  heaven  than  he,  and  looking  in,  told  him 
what  she  saw,  and  he,  holding  her  hand,  felt  the  thrill  of 
celestial  electricity.  With  such  women,  life  has  no  prose ; 
their  eyes  see  all  things  in  the  light  of  heaven,  and  flowers 
of  paradise  spring  up  in  paths  that  to  unnanointed  eyes,  seem 
only  paths  of  toil.  I  never  felt,  from  anything  I  saw  at 
home,  from  any  word  or  action  of  my  mother's,  that  we 
were  poor,  in  the  sense  that  poverty  was  an  evil.  1  was 
reminded,  to  be  sure,  that  we  were  poor  in  a  sense  that 
required  constant  carefulness,  watchfulness  over  little 
things,  energetic  habit-s,  and  vigorous  industry  and  self-help- 


J/l"  SHADOW-WIFE.  37 

fulness.  But  we  were  never  poor  in  any  sense  that  restricted 
hospitality  or  made  it  a  burden.  In  those  days,  a  minis- 
ter's house  was  always  the  home  for  all  the  ministers  and 
their  families,  whenever  an  exigency  required  of  them  to 
travel,  and  the  spare  room  of  our  house  never  wanted  guests 
of  longer  or  shorter  continuance.  But  the  atmosphere  of 
the  house  was  such  as  always  made  guests  welcome,  Three 
or  four  times  a  year,  the  annual  clerical  gatherings  of  the 
church  filled  our  house  to  overflowing  and  necessitated  an 
abundant  provision  and  great  activity  of  preparation  on  the 
part  of  the  women  of  our  family.  Yet  1  never  heard  an 
expression  of  impatience  or  a  suggestion  that  made  me 
suppose  they  felt  themselves  unduly  burdened.  My  mother's 
cheerful  face  was  a  welcome  and  a  benediction  at  all  times, 
and  guests  found  it  good  to  be  with  her. 

In  the  midst  of  our  large  family,  of  different  ages,  of 
vigorous  growth,  of  great  individuality  and  forcefulness 
of  expression,  my  mother's  was  the  administrative  power. 
My  father  habitually  referred  everything  to  her,  and  leaned 
,  on  her  advice  with  a  childlike  dependence.  She  read  the 
character  of  each,  she  mediated  between  opposing  natures; 
she  translated  the  dialect  of  different  sorts  of  spirits,  to 
each  other.  In  a  family  of  young  children,  there  is  a  chance 
for  every  sort  and  variety  of  natures;  and  for  natures 
whose  modes  of  feeling  are  as  foreign  to  each  other,  as 
those  of  the  French  and  the  English.  It  needs  a  common 
interpreter,  who  understands  every  dialect  of  the  soul,  thus 
to  translate  differences  of  individuality  into  a. common  lan- 
guage of  love. 

It  has  often  seemed  to  me  a  fair  question,  on  a  review  of  the 
way  my  mother  ruled  in  our  family,  whether  the  politics  of 
the  ideal  state  in  a  millennial  community,  should  not  be  one 
equally  pervaded  by  mother-influences. 

The  woman  question  of  our  day,  as  I  understand  it  is  this. 
— Shall  MOTHERHOOD  ever  be  felt  in  the  public  administra- 
tion of  the  affairs  of  state?  The  state  is  nothing  more  nor 
less  than  a  collection  of  families,  and  what  would  bo  good 


38  Jf  Y  WIFE  AND  I. 

or  bad  for  the  individual  family,  would  be  good  or  bad  for 
the  state. 

Such  as  our  family  would  have  been,  ruled  only  by  my 
father,  without  my  mother,  such  the  political  state  is,  and 
has  been  ;  there  have  been  in  it  "  conscript  fathers,"  but  no 
"conscript  mothers;"  yet  is  not  a  mother's  influence  needed 
in  acts  that  relate  to  the  interests  of  collected  families  as 
much  as  in  individual  ones  ? 

The  state,  at  this  very  day,  needs  an  influence  like  what  I 
remember  our  mother's  to  have  been,  in  our  great,  vigorous, 
growing  family, — an  influence  quiet,  calm,  warming,  purify- 
ing, uniting— it  needs  a  womanly  economy  and  thrift  in  hus- 
banding and  applying  its  material  resources — it  needs  a 
divining  power,  by  which  different  sections  and  different 
races  can  be  interpreted  to  each  other,  and  blended  together 
in  love — it  needs  an  educating  power,  by  which  its  imma- 
ture children  may  be  trained  in  virtue — it  needs  a  loving 
and  redeeming  power,  by  which  its  erring  and  criminal 
children  may  be  borne  with,  purified,  and  led  back  to  virtue. 

Yet,  while  I  thus  muse,  I  remember  that  such  women  as 
my  mother  are  those  to  whom  in  an  especial  manner  all 
noise  and  publicity  and  unrestful  conflict  are  peculiarly 
distasteful.  My  mother  had  that  delicacy  of  fibre  that  made 
any  kind  of  public  exercise  of  her  powers  an  impossibility. 
It  is  not  peculiarly  a  feminine  characteristic,  but  belongs 
equally  to  many  men  of  the  finest  natures.  It  is  character- 
istic of  the  poets  and  philosophers  of  life.  It  is  ascribed  by 
the  sacred  writers  to  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  in  whom  an  aver- 
sion for  publicity  and  a  longing  for  stillness  and  retirement 
are  specially  indicated  by  many  touching  incidents.  Jesus 
preferred  to  form  around  him  a  family  of  disciples  and  to 
act  on  the  world  through  them,  and  it  is  remarkable  that 
he  left  no  writings  directly  addressed  to  the  world  by  him- 
self, but  only  by  those  whom  he  inspired. 

Women  of  this  brooding,  quiet,  deeply  spiritual  nature, 
while  they  cannot  attend  caucuses,  or  pull  political  wires  or 
mingle  in  the  strifeof  political  life,  are  yet  the  most  needed 


MY  SHADOW-WIFE.  39 

force  to  be  for  the  good  of  the  State.  I  am  persuaded  that 
it  is  not  till  this  class  of  women  fed  as  vital  and  personal  re- 
sponsibility for  the  f/ood  of  the  State,  as  they  have  hitherto 
felt  for  that  of  the  family,  that  we  shall  gain  the  final  elements 
of  a  perfect  society.  The  laws  of  Rome,  so  said  the  graceful 
myth,  were  dictated  to  Numa  Pompilius,  by  the  nymph, 
Egeria.  No  mortal  eyo  saw  her.  She  was  not  in  the  forum, 
or  the  senate.  She  did  not  strive,  nor  cry,  nor  lift  up  her 
voice  in  the  street,  but  she  made  the  laws  by  which  Rome 
ruled  the  world.  Let  us  hope  in  a  coming  day  that  not  Egeria, 
but  Mary,  the  mother  of  Jesus,  the  great  archetype  of  the 
Christian  motherhood,  shall  be  felt  through  all  the  laws  and 
institutions  of  society.  That  Mary,  wrho  kept  all  things  and 
pondered  them  in  her  heart — the  silent  poet,  the  prophetess, 
the  one  confidential  friend  of  Jesus,  sweet  and  retired  as 
evening  dew,  yet  strong  to  go  forth  with  Christ  against  tho 
cruel  and  vulgar  mob,  and  to  stand  unfainting  by  the  cross 
wlicre  He  suffered! 

From  the  time  that  my  mother  discovered  my  store  of 
manuscripts,  she  came  into  new  and  more  intimate  relation 
with  me.  She  took  me  from  the  district  school,  and  kept 
me  constantly  with  herself,  teaching  me  in  the  intervals  of 
domestic  avocations. 

I  was  what  is  called  a  mother's-boy,  as  she  taught  me  to 
render  her  all  sorts  of  household  services,  such  as  are 
usually  performed  by  girls.  My  two  older  sisters,  about 
this  time,  left  us,  to  establish  a  seminary  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, and  the  sister  nearest  my  age  went  to  study  under 
their  care,  so  that  my  mother  said,  playfully,  she  had  no 
resource  but  to  make  a  girl  of  me.  This  association  with 
a  womanly  nature,  and  this  discipline  in  womanly  ways,  I 
hold  to  have  been  an  invaluable  part  of  my  early  training. 
There  is  no  earthly  reason  which  requires  a  man,  in  order 
to  be  manly,  to  be  unhandy  and  clumsy  in  regard  to  tho 
ininuticD  of  domestic  Me  ;  and  there  arc  quantities  of  occa- 
sions occurring  in  tho  life  of  every  man,  in  which  he  will 
have  occasion  to  be  grateful  to  his  mother,  if,  like  mine,  she 


40 


M  r  WIFE  AND  I. 


trains  Mm   in   woman's  arts   and  the    secrets   of    making 
domestic  life  agreeable. 

But  it  is  not  merely  in  this  respect  that  I  felt  the  value  of 
my  early  companionship  with  my  mother.  The  power  of 
such  women  over  our  sex  is  essentially  the  service  render- 
ed us  in  forming  our  ideal,  and  it  was  by  my  mother's 
influence  that  the  ideal  guardian,  the  "  shadow  wife,"  was 
formed,  that  guided  me  through  my  youth. 

She  wisely  laid  hold  of  the  little  idyl  of  my  childhood, 
as  something  which  gave  her  the  key  to  my  nature,  and 
opened  before  me  the  hope  in  my  manhood  of  such  a  friend 
as  my  little  Daisy  had  been  to  my  childhood.  This  wife  of 
the  future  she  often  spoke  of  as  a  motive.  I  was  to  make 
myself  worthy  of  her.  For  her  sake  I  was  to  be  strong,  to 
be  efficient,  to  be  manly  and  true,  and  above  all  pure  in 
thought  and  imagination  and  Li  word. 

The  cold  mountain  air  and  simple  habits  of  New  England 
country  life  are  largely  a  preventive  of  open  immorality ; 
but  there  is  another  temptation  which  besets  the  boy, 
against  Avhich  the,  womanly  ideal  is  the  best  shield — the 
temptation  to  vulgarity  and  obscenity. 

It  was  to  my  mother's  care  and  teaching  I  owe  it,  that 
there  always  seemed  to  be  a  lady  at  my  elbow,  when 
stories  were  told  such  as  a  pure  woman  would  blush  to  hear. 
It  was  owing  to  her,  that  a  great  deal  of  what  I  supposed 
to  be  classical  literature  both  in  Greek  and  Latin  and  in 
English  was  to  me  and  is  to  me  to  this  day  simply  repul- 
sive and  disgusting.  I  remember  that  one  time  when  I 
was  in  my  twelfth  or  thirteenth  year,  one  of  Satan's  agents 
put  into  my  hand  one  of  those  stories  that  are  written 
with  an  express  purpose  of  demoralizing  the  young — stories 
that  are  sent  creeping  like  vipers  and  rattle-snakes  stealth- 
ily and  secretly  among  inexperienced  and  unguarded  boys 
hiding  in  secret  corners,  gliding  under  their  pillows  and 
filling  their  veins  with  the  fever  poison  of  impurity.  How 
many  boys  in  the  most  critical  period  of  life  are  forever 
ruined,  in  body  and  soul,  by  the  silent  secret  gliding  amoMg 


MY  SHADOW-WIFE.  41 

them  of  these  nests  ot  impure  serpents,  unless  they  have  a 
mother,  wise,  watchful,  and  never  sleeping,  with  whom 
they  are  in  habits  of  unreserved  intimacy  and  communion  ! 

1  remember  that  when  my  mother  took  from  me  this  book, 
it  was  with  an  expression  of  fear  and  horror  which  made 
a  deep  impression  on  me.  Then  she  sat  by  me  that  night, 
when  the  shadows  were  deepening',  and  toid  nie  how  the 
reading  of  such  books,  or  the  letting  of  such  ideas  into  my 
mind  would  make  me  unworthy  of  the  wife  she  hoped 
some  day  I  would  Man.  With  a  voice  of  solemn  awe  she 
spoke  of  the  holy  mystery  of  marriage  as  something  so 
sacred,  that  all  my  life's  happiness  depended  on  keeping  it 
pure,  and  surrounding  it  only  with  the  holiest  thoughts. 

Tt  was  more  the  thrill  of  her  sympathies,  the  noble  poetry 
of  her  nature  inspiring  mine,  than  anything  she  said,  that 
acted  upon  me  and  stimulated  me  to  keep  my  mind  and 
memory  pure.  In  the  closeness  of  my  communion  with  her 
I  seemed  to  see  through  her  eyes  and  feel  through  her  nerves, 
so  that  at  last  a  passage  in  a  book  or  a  sentiment  uttered 
always  suggested  the  idea  of  wliat  she  would  think  of  it. 

In  our  days  we  have  heard  much  said  of  the  importance  oi! 
training  women  to  be  wives.  Is  there  not  something  to  be 
said  on  the  importance  of  training  men  to  be  husbands  ? 
Is  the  wide  latitude  of  thought  and  reading  and  expression 
which  has  been  accorded  as  a  matter  of  course  to  the  boy 
and  the  young  man,  the  conventionally  allowed  familiarity 
Avith  coarseness  and  indelicacy,  a  fair  preparation  to  enable 
him  to  be  the  intimate  companion  of  a  pure  woman  ?  For 
how  many  ages  has  it  been  the  doctrine  that  man  and  woman 
were  to  meet  in  marriage,  the  one  crystal-pure,  the  other 
foul  with  the  permitted  garbage  of  all  sorts  of  uncleansed 
literature  and  license  ? 

If  the  man  is  to  be  the  head  of  the  woman,  even  as  Christ 
is  the  head  of  the  Church,  should  he  not  be  her  equal,  at 
least,  in  purity  ? 

My  shadow-wife  grew  up  by  my  side  under  my  mother's 
rivative  touch.  It  was  for  her  I  studied,  for  her  I  should 


42  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

toil.  The  thought  of  providing  for  her  took  the  sordid  ele- 
ment out  of  economy  and  made  it  unselfish.  She  was  to  be 
to  me  adviser,  friend,  mspirer,  charmer.  She  was  to  be  my 
companion,  not  alone  in  one  faculty,  but  through  all  the 
range  of  my  being— there  should  be  nothing  wherein  she  and 
I  could  not  by  appreciative  sympathy  commune  together. 
As  I  thought  of  her,  she  seemed  higher  than  I.  I  must  love 
up  and  not  down,  I  said.  She  must  stand  on  a  height  and  I 
must  climb  to  her — she  must  be  a  princess  worthy  of  many 
toils  and  many  labors.  Gradually  she  became  to  me  a  con- 
trolling power. 

The  thought  of  what  she  would  think,  closed  for  me  many 
a  book  that  I  felt  she  and  I  could  not  read  together — her 
fair  image  barred  the  way  to  many  a  door  and  avenue, 
which  if  a  young  man  enters,  he  must  leave  his  good  angel 
behind, — for  her  sake  I  abjured  intimacies  that  I  felt  she 
could  not  approve,  and  it  was  my  ambition  to  keep  the 
inner  temple  of  my  heart  and  thoughts  so  pure,  that  it 
might  be  a  worthy  resting  place  for  her  at  last. 


I  START  FOR  COLLEGE.  43 


CHAPTER    V. 


I  START  FOR  COLLEGE  AND    MY  UNCLE    JACOB  ADVISES  ME. 

!  HE  time  came  at  last  when  the  sacred  habit  of  in- 
timacy with  my  mother  was  broken,  and  I  was 
to  leave  her  for  college. 

It  was  the  more  painful  to  her,  as  only  a  year  before,  my 
father  had  died,  leaving  her  more  than  ever  dependent  on 
the  society  of  her  children. 

My  father  died  as  he  had  lived,  rejoicing  in  his  work  and 
feeling  that  if  he  had  a  hundred  lives  to  live,  he  would  de- 
vote them  to  the  same  object  for  which  he  had  spent  that 
one — the  preaching  of  the  Gospel.  He  left  to  my  mother  the 
homestead  and  a  small  farm,  which  was  under  the  care  of 
one  of  my  brothers,  so  that  the  event  of  his  death  made  no 
change  in  our  family  home  center,  and  I  was  to  go  to  col- 
lege and  fulfill  the  hope  of  his  heart  and  the  desire  of  my 
mother's  life,  in  consecrating  myself  to  the  work  of  the 
Christian  ministry. 

My  father  and  mother  had  always  kept  sacredly  a  little 
fund  laid  by  for  the  education  of  their  children  ;  it  was  the 
result  of  many  small  savings  and  self-denials — but  self- 
denials  so  cheerfully  and  hopefully  encountered  that  they 
had  almost  changed  their  nature  and  become  preferences. 
The  family  fund  for  this  purpose  had  been  used  in  turn  by 
two  of  my  older  brothers,  who,  as  soon  as  they  gained  an 
independent  foothold  in  life,  appropriated  each  his  first 
earnings  to  replacing  this  sum  for  the  use  of  the  next. 

It  was  not,  however,  a  fund  large  enough  to  dispense  with 
the  need  of  a  strict  economy,  and  a  supplemental  self -help- 
fulness on  our  part. 


44 


MY  WIFE  AND  1. 


The  forms  in  some  of  our  New  England  colleges  are 
thoughtfully  arranged  so  that  the  students  can  teach  for 
throe  of  the  winter  months,  and  the  resources  thus  gained 
help  out  their  college  expenses.  Thus  at  the  same  time  they 
educate  themselves  and  help  to  educate  others,  and  they 
study  with  the  maturity  of  mind  and  the  appreciation  of  the 
value  of  what  they  are  gaining,  resulting  from  a  habit  of 
measuring  themselves  with  the  actual  needs  of  life. 

The  time  when  the  boy  goes  to  college  is  the  time  when  he 
feels  manhood  to  begin.  He  is  no  Longer  a  boy,  but  an  un- 
fledged, undeveloped  man— a  creature,  half  of  the  past  and 
half  of  the  future.  Yet  every  one  gives  him  a  good  word 
or  a  congratulatory  shake  of  the  hand  on  his  entrance  to 
this  new  plateau  of  life.  It  is  a  time  wlien  advice  is  plenty 
as  blackberries  in  August,  and  often  held  quite  as  cheap— 
but  nevertheless  a  young  fellow  may  as  well  look  at  what 
his  elders  tell  him  at  this  time,  and  see  what  he  can  make 
of  it, 

As  I  was  "  our  minister's  son,"  all  the  village  thought  it 
had  something  to  do  with  my  going.  "  Hallo,  Harry,  so 
you've  got  into  college  !  Think  you'll  be  as  smart  a  man  as 
your  dad  f '  said  one.  "  Wa-al,  so  I  hear  you're  going  to  col- 
lege. Stick  to  it  now.  I  could  a  made  suthin  ef  I'd  a  had 
larniii  at  your  age,"  said  old  Jerry  Smith,  who  rung  the 
meeting-house  bell,  sawed  wood,  and  took  care  of  miscel- 
laneous gardens  for  sundry  widows  in  the  vicinity. 

But  the  sayings  that  struck  me  as  most  to  the  purpose 
came  from  my  Uncle  Jacob. 

Uncle  Jacob  was  my  mother's  brother,  and  the  doctor  not 
only  of  our  village,  but  of  all  the  neighborhood  for  ten  miles 
round.  He  was  a  man  celebrated  for  medical  knowledge 
through  the  State,  and  known  by  his  articles  in  medical 
journals  far  beyond.  He  might  have  easily  commanded  a 
wider  and  more  lucrative  sphere  of  practice  by  going  to 
any  of  the  large  towns  and  citi:  s,  but  Uncle  Jacob  was  a 
philosopher  and  preferred  to  live  in  a  small  quiet  way  in  a. 
place  whose  scenery  suited  him,  and  where  he  could  act 


/  START  FOR  COLLEGE.  45 

precisely  as  he  felt  disposed,  and  carry  out  all  his  little 
humors  and  pet  ideas  without  rubbing  against  conven- 
tionalities. 

lie  hud  a  secret  adoration  for  my  mother,  whom  he  re- 
garded as  the  top  and  crown  of  all  womanhood,  and  he 
also  enjoyed  the  society  of  my  father,  using  him  as  a  sort  of 
whetstone  to  sharpen  his  wits  on.  Uncle  Jacob  was  a 
church  member  in  good  standing,  but  in  the  matter  of  belief 
he  was  somewhat  like  a .high -mettled  horse  in  a  pasture, — he 
enjoyed  once  in  a  while  having  a  free  argumentative  race 
with  my  father  all  round  the  theological  lot.  Away  he 
would  go  in  full  career,  dodging  definitions,  doubling  and 
turning  with  elastic  dexterity,  and  sometimes  ended  by 
leaping  over  all  the  fences,  with  most  astounding  asser- 
tions, after  which  he  would  calm  down,  and  gradually  suffer 
the  theological  saddhv  and  bridle  to  be  put  on  him  and  go 
on  with  edifying  paces,  apparently  much  refreshed  by  his 
metaphysical  capers. 

Uncle  Jacob  was  reported  to  have  a  wonderf  ul  skill  in  the 
healing  craft.  He  compounded  certain  pills  which  were 
stated  to  have  most  wonderful  effects.  He  was  accustomed 
to  exact  that,  in  order  fully  to  develop  their  medical  proper- 
ties, they  should  be  taken  after  a  daily  bath,  and  be  followed 
immediately  by  a  brisk  walk  of  a  specific  duration  in  the 
open  air.  The  steady  use  of  these  pills  had  been  known  to 
make  wonderful  changes  in  the  cases  of  confirmed  invalids, 
a  fact  which  Uncle  Jacob  used  to  notice  with  a  peculiar 
twinkle  in  the  corner  of  his  eye.  It  was  sometimes  whis- 
pered that  the  composition  of  them  was  neither  more  nor 
less  than  simple  white  sugar  with  a  flavor  of  some  harmless 
essence,  but  upon  this  subject  my  Uncle  Jacob  was  impene- 
trable. He-  used  to  say,  with  the  afore-meutioned  waggish 
twinkle,  that  their  preparation  was  his  secret. 

Uncle  Jacob  had  always  had  a  special  favor  for  me,  shown 
after  his  own  odd  and  original  manner.  He  would  take  me 
in  his  chaise  with  him  when  driving  about  his  business,  and 
keep  my  mind  on  a  perpetual  stretch  with  his  odd  quea- 


4C  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

tions  and  droll,  suggestive  remarks  or  stories.  There  was  a 
shrewd  keen  quality  to  all  that  he  said,  that  stimulated  like 
a  mental  tonic,  and  none  the  less  so  for  a  stinging  flavor  of 
sarcasm  and  cynicism,  that  stirred  up  and  provoked  one's 
self-esteem.  Yet  as  Uncle  Jacob  was  companionable  and 
loved  a  listener,  I  think  he  was  none  the  less  agreeable  to 
me  for  this  slight  touch  of  his  claws.  One  likes  to  find 
power  of  any  kind — and  he  who  shows  that  he  can  both 
scratch  and  bite  effectively,  if  he  holds  his  talons  in  sheath, 
comes  in  time  to  be  regarded  as  a  sort  of  benefactor  for  his 
forbearance :  and  so,  though  I  got  many  a  shrewd  mental 
nip  and  gripe  from  my  Uncle  Jacob,  I  gave  on  the  whole 
more  heed  to  his  opinion  than  that  of  anybody  else  that  I 
knew. 

From  the  time  that  I  had  been  detected  with  my  self- 
invented  manuscript,  up  to  the  period  of  my  going  to  col- 
lege, the  expression  of  my  thoughts  by  writing  had  always 
been  a  passion  with  me,  and  from  year  to  year  my  mind  had 
been  busy  with  its  own  creations,  which  it  was  a  solace  and 
amusement  for  me  to  record. 

Of  course  there  was  ever  so  much  crabbed  manuscript, 
and  no  less  confused,  immature  thought.  I  wrote  poems, 
essays,  stories,  tragedies,  and  comedies.  I  demonstrated 
the  immortality  of  the  soul.  I  sustained  the  future  immor- 
tality of  the  souls  of  animals.  I  wrote  sonnets  and  odes, 
in  whole  or  in  part  en  almost  everything  that  could  be  men- 
tioned in  creation. 

My  mother  advised  me  to  make  Uncle  Jacob  my  literary 
mentor,  and  the  best  of  my  productions  were  laid  under  his 
eye. 

"  Poor  trash !"  he  was  wont  to  say,  with  his  usual  kindly 
twinkle.  "  But  there  must  be  poor  trash  in  the  beginning. 
We  must  all  eat  our  peck  of  dirt,  and  learn  to  write  sense 
by  Avriting  nonsense."  Then  he  would  pick  out  here  and 
there  a  line  or  expression  which  he  assured  me  was  "  not 
bad.'1'1  Now  and  then  he  condescended  to  tell  me  that  for  a 
boy  of  my  age,  so  and  so  was  actually  hopeful,  and  that  I 


> -, 

:M  ^mK^^^ 


UNCLE  JACOB'S  ADVICE. 

"  .So  you  ewe  going  ro  college,  boy !  Well*  away  with  you ;  there's  no  use 
advising  you ;  you'll  do  as  aJl  the  rest  do.  In  one  year  you'll  know  more 
than  your  father,  your  mother,  or  I,  or  all  your  college  officers— in  fact* 
than  the  Lord  himself." 


I  START  FOR  COLLEGE.  47 

should  make  something  one  of  these  days,  which  was  to  me 
more  encouragement  than  much  more  decided  praise  from 
any  other  quarter. 

We  all  notice  that  he  who  is  reluctant  to  praise,  whose 
commendation  is  scarce  and  hard-earned,  is  he  for  whose 
good  word  everybody  is  fighting ;  he  conies  at  last  to  be  the 
judgo,  in  the  race.  After  all,  the  fact  which  Uncle  Jacob 
could  not  disguise,  that  he  had  a  certain  good  opinion  of 
me,  in  spite  of  his  sharp  criticisms  and  scant  praises,  made 
him  the  one  whose  dicta  on  every  subject  were  the  most  im- 
portant to  me. 

I  went  to  him  in  all  the  glow  of  satisfaction  and  the  trem- 
ble of  self-importance  that  a  boy  feels  who  is  taking  the 
first  step  into  the  land  of  manhood. 

I  have  the  image  of  him  now,  as  he  stood  with  his  back  to 
the  fire,  and  the  newspaper  in  his  hand,  giving  me  his  last 
counsels.  A  little  wiry,  keen-looking  man,  with  a  blue, 
hawk-like  eye,  a  hooked  nose,  a  high  forehead,  shadowed 
with  grizzled  hair,  and  a  cris-cross  of  deeply  lined  wrinkles 
in  his  face. 

"  So  you  are  going  to  college,  boy  !  Well,  away  with  you ; 
there 's  no  use  advising  you  ;  3-011  '11  do  as  all  the  rest  do.  In 
one  year  you'll  know  more  than  your  father,  your  mother, 
or  I,  or  all  your  college  officers — in  fact,  than  the  Lord  him- 
self. You'll  have  doubts  about  the  Bible,  and  think  you 
could  have  made  a  better  one.  You'll  think  that  if  the 
Lord  had  consulted  you  he  could  have  laid  the  foundations 
of  the  earth  better,  and  arranged  the  course  of  nature  to 
more  purpose.  In  short,  you'll  be  a  god,  knowing  good  and 
evil,  and  running  all  over  creation  measuring  everybody 
and  everything  in  your  pint  cup.  There'll  be  no  living  with 
you.  But  you'll  get  over  it,— it's  only  the  febrile  stage  of 
knowledge.  But  if  you  have  a  good  constitution,  you'll 
come  through  with  it." 

I  humbly  suggested  to  him  that  I  should  try  to  keep  clear 
of  the  febrile  stage ;  that  forewarned  was  forearmed. 

"  Oh,  tut !  tut !  you  must  go  through  your  fooleries.    These 


48  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

are  the  regular  diseases,  the  chicken-pox,  measles,  and 
mumps  of  young1  manhood ;  you  '11  have  them  all.  We  only 
pray  that  you  may  have  them  light,  and  not  break  your  con- 
stitution for  all  your  life  through,  by  them.  For  instance, 
you'll  fall  in  love  with  some  baby-faced  young  thing,  with 
pink  cheeks  and  long  eyelashes,  and  goodness  only  knows 
what  abominations  of  sonnets  you'll  be  guilty  of.  That 
isn't  fatal,  however,  Only  don't  get  engaged.  Take  it  as 
the  chicken-pox — keep  your  pores  open,  and  don't  get  cold, 
and  it'll  pass  off  and  leave  you  none  the  worse." 

"  And  she  !?1  said  I,  indignantly.  "  You  talk  as  if  it  was 
no  matter  what  became  of  her — " 

"What,  the  baby?  Oh,  she'll  outgrow  it,  too.  The  fact 
is,  soberly  and  seriously,  Harry,  marriage  is  the  thing  that 
makes  or  mars  a  man  ;  it's  the  gate  through  which  he  goes 
up  or  down,  and  you  shouldn't  pledge  yourself  to  it  till  you 
come  to  your  full  senses.  Look  at  your  mother,  boy ;  see 
what  a  woman  may  be ;  see  what  she  was  to  your  father, 
what  she  is  to  me,  to  you,  to  every  one  that  knows  her. 
Such  a  woman,  to  speak  reverently,  is  a  pearl  of  great 
price ;  a  man  might  well  sell  all  he  had  to  buy  her.  But  it 
isn't  that  kind  of  woman  that  flirts  with  college  boys.  You 
don't  pick  up  such  pearls  every  day." 

Of  course  I  declared  that  nothing  was  further  from  my 
thoughts  than  anything  of  that  nature. 

"  The  fact  is,  Harry,  you  can't  afford  fooleries,"  said  my 
uncle.  "  You  have  your  own  way  to  make,  and  nothing  to 
make  it  with  but  your  own  head  and  hands,  and  you  must 
begin  now  to  count  the  cost  of  everything.  You  have  a 
healthy,  sound  body;  see  that  you  take  care  of  it.  God  gives 
you  a  body  but  once.  He  don't  take  care  of  it  for  you, 
and  whatever  of  it  you  lose,  you  lose  for  good.  Many  a 
chap  goes  into  college  fresh  as  you  are,  and  comes  out  with 
weak  eyes  and  crooked  back,  yellow  complexion  and  dys- 
peptic stomach.  He  lias  only  himself  to  thank  for  it.  When 
you  get  to  college  they'll  want  you  to  smoke,  and  you'll 
want  to,  just  for  idleness  and  good  fellowship.  Now,  be- 


I  START  FOR  COLLEGE.  49 

fore  you  begin,  just  calculate  what  it'll  cost  you.  You  can't 
get  a  good  cigar  under  ten  cents,  and  your  smoker  wants 
three  a  day,  at  the  least.  There  go  thirty  cents  a  day,  two 
dollars  and  ten  cents  a  week,  or  a  hundred  and  nine  dollars 
and  twenty  cents  a  year.  Take  the  next  ten  years  at  that 
rate,  and  you  can  invest  over  a  thousand  dollars  in  tobacco 
smoke.  That  thousand  dollars,  invested  in  a  savings  bank, 
would  give  a  permanent  income  of  sixty  dollars  a  year, — 
a  handy  thing,  as  you'll  find,  just  as  you  are  beginning  life. 
Now,  I  know  you  think  all  this  is  prosy ;  You  are  amazingly 
given  to  figures  of  rhetoric,  but,  after  all,  you've  got  to  get 
on  in  a  world  where  things  go  by  the  rules  of  arithmetic." 

"  Well,  uncle,"  I  said,  a  little  nettled,  "  I  pledge  you  my 
word  that  I  won't  smoke  or  drink.  I  never  have  done 
either,  and  I  don't  know  why  I  should." 

"  Good  for  you !  your  hand  on  that,  my  boy.  You  don't 
need  either  tobacco  or  spirits  any  more  than  you  need  water 
in  your  shoes.  There's  no  danger  in  doing  without  them, 
and  great  danger  in  doing  with  them ;  so  let's  look  on  that 
as  settled. 

"  Now,  as  to  the  rest.  You  have  a  faculty  for  stringing 
words  together,  and  a  hankering  after  it,  that  may  make  or 
spoil  you.  Many  a  fellow  comes  to  naught  because  he  can 
string  pretty  phrases  and  turn  a  good  line  of  poetry.  He 
gets  the  notion  that  he's  to  be  a  poet,  or  orator,  or  genius  of 
some  sort,  and  neglects  study.  Now,  Harry,  remember  that 
an  empty  bag  can't  stand  upright ;  and  that  if  you  are  ever 
to  be  a  writer  you  must  have  something  to  say,  and  that 
you've  got  to  dig  for  knowledge  as  for  hidden  treasure. 
A  genius  for  hard  work  is  the  best  kind  of  genius.  Look  at 
great  writers,  and  see  how  many  had  it.  What  a  student 
Milton  was,  and  Goethe'!  Great  fellows,  those ! — like  trees 
that  grow  out  in  a  pasture  lot,  with  branches  all  round. 
Composition  is  the  flowering  out  of  a  man's  mind.  When 
he  has  made  growth,  all  studies  and  all  learning,  all  that 
makos  woody  fibre,  go  into  it.  Now,  study  books  ;  observe 
nature  ;  practice.  If  you  make  a  good  firm  mental  growth, 


50  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

I  hope  to  see  some  blossoms  and  fruits  from  it  one  of  these 
days.  So  go  your  ways,  and  God  bless  yon !" 

The  last  words  were  said  as  Uncle  Jacob  slipped  into  my 
hand  an  envelope,  containing  a  sum  of  money.  "  You'll 
need  it,"  he  said,  "  to  furnish  your  room  ;  and  hark'e !  if 
you  get  into  any  troubles  that  you  don't  want  to  burden 
your  mother  with,  come  to  me." 

There  was  warmth  in  the  grip  with  which  these  last 
words  were  said,  and  a  sort  of  misty  moisture  came  over 
his  keen  blue  eye, — little  signs  which  meant  as  much  from 
his  shrewd  and  reticent  nature  as  a  caress  or  an  expression 
of  tenderness  might  from  another. 

My  mother's  last  words,  after  hours  of  talk  over  the  even- 
ing fire,  were  these :  "  I  want  you  to  be  a  good  man.  A 
great  many  have  tried  to  be  great  men,  and  failed ;  but 
nobody  ever  sincerely  tried  to  be  a  good  man,  and  failed." 

I  suppose  it  is  about  the  happiest  era  in  a  young  fellow's 
life,  when  he  goes  to  college  for  the  first  time. 

The  future  is  all  a  land  of  blue  distant  mists  and  shadows, 
radiant  as  an  Italian  landscape.  The  boundaries  between 
the  possible  and  the  not  possible  are  so  charmingly  vague ! 
There  is  a  pot  of  gold  at  the  end  of  the  rainbow  forever 
waiting  for  each  new  comer.  Generations  have  not  ex- 
hausted it ! 

De  Balzac  said,  of  writing  his  novels,  that  the  dreaming 
out  of  them  was  altogether  the  best  of  it.  "  To  imagine," 
he  said,  "  is  to  smoke  enchanted  cigarettes ;  to  bring  out 
one's  imaginations  into  words, — that  is  work  /" 

The  same  may  be  said  of  the  romance  of  one's  life.  The 
dream-life  is  beautiful,  but  the  rendering  into  reality  quite 
another  thing. 

I  believe  every  boy  who  has  a  good  father  and  mother, 
goes  to  college  meaning,  in  a  general  way,  to  be  a  good  fel- 
low. He  will  not  disappoint  them. — No !  a  thousand  times, 
no !  In  the  main,  he  will  be  a  good  boy, — not  that  he  is 
going  quite  to  walk  according  to  the  counsels  of  his  elders. 
He  is  not  going  to  fall  over  any  precipices — not  he — but 


1  START  FOR  COLLEGE.  51 

he  is  going  to  walk  warily  and  advisedly  along  the  edge 
of  them,  and  take  a  dispassionate  survey  of  the  prospect, 
and  gather  a  few  botanical  specimens  here  and  there.  It 
might  be  dangerous  for  a  less  steady  head  than  his ;  but  he 
understands  himself,  and  with  regard  to  all  things  he  says, 
"  We  shall  see."  The  world  is  full  of  possibilities  and  open 
questions.  Up  sail,  and  away ;  let  us  test  them  ! 

As  I  sealed  the  mountains  and  descended  the  valleys  on 
my  way  to  college,  I  thought  over  all  that  my  mother  and 
Uncle  Jacob  had  said  to  me,  and  had  my  own  opinion  of  it. 

Of  course  1  was  not  the  person  to  err  in  the  ways  he  had 
suggested.  I  was  not  to  be  the  dupe  of  a  boy  and  girl  flir- 
tation. My  standard  of  manhood  was  too  exalted,  I  re- 
flected, and  I  thought  with  complacency  how  little  Uncle 
Jacob  knew  of  me. 

To  be  sure,  it  is  a  curious  kind  of  a  thought  to  a  young 
man.  that  somewhere  in  this  world,  unknown  to  him,  and 
as  yet  unknowing  him,  lives  the  woman  that  is  to  be  his 
earthly  fate, — to  affect,  for  good  or  evil,  his  destiny. 

We  have  all  read  the  pretty  story  about  the  Princess  of 
China  and  the  young  Prince  of  Tartary,  whom  a  fairy  and 
genius  in  a  freak  of  caprice  showed  to  each  other  in  an  en- 
chanted sleep,  and  then  whisked  away  again,  leaving  them 
to  years  of  vain  pursuit  and  wanderings.  Such  is  the  ideal 
inume  of  somebody,  who  must  exist  somewhere,  and  is  to  be 
found  sometime,  and  when  found,  is  to  be  ours. 

"  Uncle  Jacob  is  all  right  in  the  main,"  I  said ;  "  but  if  I 
should  meet  the  true  woman  even  in  my  college  days,  why 
that,  indeed,  would  be  quite  another  thing," 


52  MY  WIFE   AND  I. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

MY  DREAM- WIFE 

[LL  things  prospered  with  me  in  my  college  life.  I 
had  a  sunny  room  commanding  a  fine  prospect, 
and  uncle  JacoVs  parting  liberality  enabled  me 
to  furnish  it  coinmodiously. 

I  bought  the  furniture  of  a  departing  senior  at  a  reduced 
price,  and  felt  quite  the  spirit  of  a  householder  in  my  pos- 
sessions. I  was  well  prepared  on  my  studies  and  did  not 
find  my  tasks  difficult. 

My  stock  of  interior  garnishment  included  several  French 
lithographs,  for  the  most  part  of  female  heads,  looking  up, 
with  very  dark  bright  eyes,  or  looking  down,  with  very  long 
dark  eyelashes. 

These  heads  of  dream-women  are,  after  all,  not  to  be 
laughed  at ;  they  show  the  yearning  for  womanly  influences 
and  womanly  society  which  follows  the  young  man  in  his 
enforced  monastic  seclusion  from  all  family  life  and  family 
atmosphere.  These  little  fanciful  French  lithographs,  gen- 
erally, are  chosen  for  quite  other  than  artistic  reasons.  If 
we  search  into  it  we  shall  find  that  one  is  selected  because 
it  is  like  sister  "  Nell,"  and  another  puts  one  in  mind  of 
"Bessie,"  and  then  again,, there  is  another  "like  a  girl  I 
used  to  know."  Now  and  theij  one  of  them  has  such  a 
piquant,  provoking  air  of  individuality,  that  one  is  sure 
it  must  have  been  sketched  from  nature.  Some  teas- 
ing, coaxing,  "  don't-care-what-you-think  "  sort  of  a  sprite, 
must  have  wreathed  poppies  and  blue  corn-flowers  just  so 
in  her  hair,  and  looked  gay  defiance  at  the  artist  who  drew 
it.  There  was  just  such  a  saucy,  spirited  gipsy  over  my 


THE  ENCHANTED  GROUND. 

mantel  piece,  who  seemed  to  defy  me  to  find  her  if  I 
searched  the  world  over — with  whom  I  held  sometimes 
airy  colloquies— not  in  the  least  was  she  like  my  dream- 
wife,  but  I  liked  her  for  all  that,  and  thought  1  would 
"  give  something  "  to  know  what  she  would  have  to  say  to 
mo,  just  for  the  curiosity  of  the  thing. 

The  college  was  in  a  little  village,  and  there  was  no  par- 
ticular  amity  between  the  townspeople  and  the  students. 
I  believe  it  is  the  understanding  in  such  cases,  that  college 
students  are  to  be  regarded  and  treated  as  a  tribe  of  Be- 
douin Arabs,  whose  hand  is  against  every  man,  and  they  in 
their  turn  are  not  backward  to  make  good  the  character. 
J'ublic  opinion  shuts  them  up  together— they  are  a  state 
within  a  state — with  a  public  sentiment,  laws,  manners, 
and  modes  of  thinking  of  their  own.  It  is  a  state,  too, 
without  women.  When  we  think  of  this,  and  remember 
that  all  this  experience  is  gone  through  in  the  most  gaseous 
and  yeasty  period  of  human  existence,  we  no  longer  wonder 
that  there  are  college  rows  and  scrapes,  that  all  sort  of 
grotesque  capers  become  hereditary  and  traditional;  that 
an  apple-cart  occasionally  appears  on  top  of  one  of  the 
su-rpk-s,  that  cannon  balls  are  rolled  surreptiously  down  the 
college  stairs,  and  that  tutors'  doors  are  mysteriously  found 
locked  at  recitation  hours.  One  simply  wonders  that  the 
roof  is  not  blown  off,  and  the  windows  out,  by  the  com- 
bined excitability  of  so  many  fermenting  natures. 

There  is  a  tendency  now  in  society  to  open  the  college 
course  equally  to  women — to  continue  through  college  life 
that  interaction  of  the  comparative  influence  of  the  sexes. 
which  is  begun  in  the  family. 

To  a  certain  extent  this  experiment  has  been  always 
favorably  tried  in  the  New  England  rural  Academics,  where 
young  men  arc  fitted  for  college  in  the  same  classes  and 
studies  with  women. 

In  these  time-honored  institutions,  young  women  hr.vc 
kept  step  with  young  men  in  the  daily  pursuit  of  scieix •<•, 
not  only  without  disorder  or  unseemly  scandal,  but  with 


54  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

manifestly  more  quietness  and  refinement  of  manner  than 
obtains  in  institutions  where  female  association  ceases  al- 
together. The  presence  of  a  couple  of  dozen  of  well-bred 
ladies  in  the  lecture  and  recitation  rooms  of  a  college  would 
probably  be  a  preventive  of  many  of  the  unseemly  and 
clumsy  jokes  wherewith  it  has  been  customary  to  diversify 
the  paths  of  science,  to  the  affliction  of  the  souls  of  profes- 
sors. 

But  for  us  boys,  there  was  no  gospel  of  womanhood  ex- 
cept what  was  to  be  got  from  the  letters  of  mothers  and  sis- 
ters, and  such  imperfect  and  flitting  acquaintance  as  we 
could  pick  up  in  the  streets  with  the  girls  of  the  village. 
Now  though  there  might  be  profit,  could  young  men  and 
women  see  each  other  daily  under  the  responsibility  of  seri- 
ous business,  keeping  step  with  one  another  in  higher  stud- 
ies, yet  it  by  no  means  follows  that  this  kind  of  flitting 
glimpse-like  acquaintance,  formed  merely  in  the  exchange 
of  a  few  outside  superficialities,  can  have  any  particularly 
good  effect.  No  element  of  true  worthy  friendship,  of  sober 
appreciation,  or  manly  or  womanly  good  sense,  generally 
enters  into  these  girl-and-boy  flirtations,  which  are  the 
only  substitute  for  family  association  during  the  barren 
years  of  student  life.  The  students  were  not  often  invited 
into  families,  and  those  who  gained  a  character  as  ladies' 
men  were  not  favorably  looked  upon  by  our  elders.  Now 
and  then  by  rare  and  exceptional  good  luck  a  college  stu- 
dent is  made  at  home  in  some  good  family,  where  there  is 
a  nice  kind  mother  and  the  wholesome  atmosphere  of  hu- 
man life;  or,  he  forms  the  acquaintance  of  some  woman, 
older  and  wiser  than  himself,  who  can  talk  with  him  on  all 
the  multitude  of  topics  his  college  studies  suggest.  But 
such  cases  are  only  exceptions.  In  general  there  is  no 
choice  between  flirtation  and  monastic  isolation. 

For  my  part,  I  posed  myself  on  the  exemplary  platform, 
and  remembering  my  uncle  Jacob's  advice,  contemplated 
life  with  the  grim  rigidity  of  a  philosopher.  I  was  going  to 
have  110  trifling,  and  siirveyed  the  girls  at  church,  on  Sun- 


THE  ENCHANTED  GROUND.  5.5 

day,  with  a  distant  and  severe  air— as  gay  creatures  of  an 
hour,  who  could  hold  no  place  in  iny  serious  meditations. 
Plato  or  Aristotle,  in  person,  could  not  have  contemplated 
life  and  society  from  a  more  serene  height  of  composure. 
I  was  favorably  known  by  my  teachers,  and  held  rank  at 
the  head  of  my  class,  and  was  stigmatized  as  a  "  dig,"  by 
frisky  young  gentlemen  who  enjoyed  rolling  cannon  balls 
down  stairs — taking  the  tongue  out  of  the  chapel  bell — 
greasing  the  seats,  and  other  thread-bare  college  jokes, 
which  they  had  not  genius  enough  to  vary,  so  as  to  give 
them  a  spice  of  originality. 

But  one  bright  June  Sunday — just  one  of  those  days  that 
seem  made  to  put  all  one's  philosophy  into  confusion,  when 
apple-blossoms  were  bursting  their  pink  shells,  and  robins 
singing,  and  leaves  twittering  and  talking  to  each  other  in 
undertones,  there  came  to  me  a  great  revelation. 

How  innocently  I  brushed  my  hair  and  tied  my  neck  tie, 
on  that  fateful  morning,  contemplating  my  growing  mous- 
tache and  whiskers  hopefully  in  the  small  square  of  look- 
ing-glass .which  served  for  me  these  useful  purposes  of 
self- knowledge.  I  looked  at  my  lineaments  as  those  of  a 
free  young  junior,  without  fear  and  without  anxiety,  with- 
out even  an  incipient  inquiry  what  anybody  else  would 
think  of  them — least  of  all  any  woman — and  marched  forth 
obediently  and  took  my  wonted  seat  in  that  gallery  of  the 
village  church  which  was  assigned  to  the  college  students 
of  Congregational  descent;  where,  like  so  many  sheep  in 
a  pen,  we  joined  in  the  services  of  the  common  sheep-fold. 

I  suppose  there  is  moral  profit  even  in  the  decent  self- 
denial  of  such  weekly  recurring  religious  exercises.  To  be 
forced  to  a  certain  period  of  silence,  order,  quiet,  and  to 
have  therein  a  possibility  and  a  suggestion  of  communion 
with  a  Higher  Power,  and  an  out-look  into  immortality,  is 
something  not  to  be  undervalued  in  education,  and  justifies 
the  stringency  with  which  our  New  England  colleges  pre- 
serve and  guard  this  part  of  their  regime. 

But  it  was  to  be  confessed  in  our  case,  that  the  number 


56  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

who  realty  seemed  to  have  any  spiritual  participation  or 
sympathy  in  the  great  purposes  of  the  exercises,  was  not  a 
majority.  A  general,  dull  decency  of  demeanor  was  the 
most  frequent  attainment,  and  such  small  recreations  were 
in  vogue  as  could  be  pursued  without  drawing  the  atten- 
tion of  the  monitors.  There  was  some  telegraphy  of 
eyes  between  the  girls  of  the  village  and  some  of  the  more 
society-loving  fellows,  who  had  cultivated  intimacies  in 
that  quarter;  there  were  some  novels,  stealthily  introduced 
and  artfully  concealed  and  read  by  the  owner,  while  his 
head,  resting  on  the  seat  before  him,  seemed  bowed  in 
devotion;  and  some  artistic  exercises  in  sketching  carica- 
tures on  the  part  of  others.  For  my  own  part,  having  been 
trained  religiously,  I  gave  strict  outward  and  decorous  at- 
tention ;  but  the  fact  was  that  my  mind  generally  sailed  oif 
on  some  cloud  of  fancy,  and  wandered  through  dream-land, 
so  that  not  a  word  of  anything  present  reached  my  ear. 
This  habit  of  reverie  and  castle-building,  repressed  all  the 
week  by  the  severe  necessity  of  definite  tasks,  came  upon 
me  Sundays  as  Bunyan  describes  the  hot,  sleepy  atmos- 
phere of  the  enchanted  ground 

Our  pastor  was  a  good  man,  who  wrote  a  kind  of  smooth, 
elegant,  unexceptionable  English ;  whose  measured  cadences 
and  easy  flow,  were,  to  use  the  scripture  language,  as  a 
"  very  lovely  song  of  one  that  hath  a  pleasant  voice,  and 
can  play  sweetly  upon  an  instrument."  I  heard  him  as 
one  hears  murmurs  and  voices  through  one's  sleep,  while  my 
spirit  went  everywhere  under  the  sun.  I  traveled  in  foreign 
lands,  I  saw  pictures,  cathedrals ;  I  had  thrilling  adventures 
and  hair-breadth  escapes ;  formed  strange  and  exciting  ac- 
quaintances ;  in  short,  was  the  hero  of  a  romance,  whose 
scenes  changed  as  airily  and  easily  as  the  sunset  clouds  of 
evening.  So  really  and  so  vividly  did  this  supposititious  life 
excite  me  that  I  have  actually  found  myself  with  tears  in 
my  eyes  through  the  pathos  of  these  unsubstantial  visions. 

It  was  in  one  of  the  lulling  pauses  of  such  a  romance, 
while  I  yet  heard  the  voice  of  our  good  pastor  proving 


THE  ENCHANTED  GROUND.  ,57 

that  "  selfishness  was  the  essence  of  moral  evil,1'  that  I  lifted 
up  my  eyes,  and  became  for  the  first  time  conscious  of  a 
new  face,  in  the  third  pew  of  the  broad,  aisle  below  me. 
It  was  a  new  one — one  that  certainly  had  never  been  there 
before,  and  was  altogether  just  the  face  to  enter  into  the 
most  ethereal  perceptions  of  my  visionary  life.  I  started  with 
a  sort  of  awakening  thrill,  such,  perhaps,  as  Adam  had 
when  he  woke  from  his  sleep  and  saw  his  Eve.  There,  to 
be  sure,  was  the  face  of  my  dream-wife,  incarnate  and 
visible !  That  face,  so  refined,  so  spiritual,  so  pure  !  a  bap- 
tized, Christianized  Greek  face !  A  cross  between  Venus 
and  the  Virgin  Mary  !  The  outlines  were  purely,  severely 
classical,  such  as  I  have  since  seen  in  the  Psycho  of  the 
Naples  gallery;  but  the.  largo,  tremulous,  pathetic  eyes 
redeemed  them  from  statuesque  coldness.  They  were  eyes 
that  thought,  that  looked  deep  into  life,  death,  and  eter- 
nity—so I  said  to  myself  as  I  gazed  down  on  her,  and  held 
my  breath  with  a  kind  of  religious  awe.  The  vision  was  all 
in  white,  as  such  visions  must  be,  and  the  gauzy  crape  bon- 
net with  its  flowers  upon  her  head,  dissolved  under  my 
eyes  into  a  sort  of  sacred  aureole,  such  as  surrounds  the 
heads  of  saints.  I  saw  her,  and  only  her,  through  the  re- 
maining hour  of  church.  I  studied  every  movement.  The 
radiant  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  minister,  and  with  an 
expression  so  sadly  earnest  that  I  blushed  for  my  own 
wandering  thoughts,  and  began  to  endeavor  to  turn  my 
mind  to  the  truths  I  was  hearing  told;  but,  after  all,  I 
thought  more  about  her  than  the  discourse.  I  saw  her 
;vli  the  hymn-book  for  the  hymn,  and  wished  that  I 
were  down  there  to  find  it  for  her.  I  saw  her  standing 
up,  and  looking  down  at  her  hymns  with  the  wonderful  eyes 
veiled  by  long  lashes,  and  singing— 

"  Call  me  away  from  earth  and  sense, 
One  sovereign  word  can  draw  me  thence, 
I  would  obey  the  voice  divine, 
And  all  inferior  joys  resign." 

How  miserably  gross,  and  worldly,  and  unworthy  I  felt 


58  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

at  that  moment !  How  I  longed  for  an  ideal,  superhuman 
spirituality, — something  that  should  make  me  worthy  to 
touch  the  hem  of  her  garment ! 

When  the  blessing  Avas  pronounced,  I  hastened  down  and 
stood  where  I  might  see  her  as  she  passed  out  of  church. 
I  had  not  been  alone  in  my  discoveries:  there  had  been 
dozens  of  others  that  saw  the  same  star,  and  there  were 
whisperings,  and  elbowings,  and  consultings,  as  a  knot  of 
juniors  and  seniors  stationed  themselves  as  I  had  done, 
to  see  her  pass  out. 

As  she  passed  by  she  raised  her  eyes  slowly,  and  as  it 
were  by  accident,  and  they  fell  like  a  ray  of  sunlight  on  one 
of  our  number,— Jim  Fellows — who  immediately  bowed. 
A  slight  pink  flush  rose  in  her  cheeks  as  she  gracefully 
returned  the  salutation,  and  passed  on.  Jim  was  instantly 
the  great  man  of  the  hour ;  he  knew  her,  it  seems. 

"It's  Miss  Ellery,  of  Portland.  Haven't  you  heard  of 
her  f"  he  said,  with  an  air  of  importance.  "  She 's  the  great 
beauty  of  Portland.  They  call  her  the  'little  divinity.' 
Met  her  last  summer,  at  Mount  Desert,"  he  added,  with 
the  comfortable  air  of  a  man  in  possession  of  the  leading 
fact  of  the  hour— the  fact  about  which  everybody  else  is 
inquiring. 

I  walked  home  behind  her  in  a  kind  of  trance,  disdaining 
to  join  in  what  I  thought  the  very  flippant  and  unworthy 
comments  of  the  boys.  I  saw  the  last  wave  of  her  white 
garments  as  she  passed  between  the  two  evergreens  in 
front  of  deacon  Brown's  square  white  house,  which  at  that 
moment  became  to  me  a  mysterious  and  glorified  shrine ; 
there  the  angel  held  her  tabernacle. 

At  this  moment  I  met  Miss  Dotha  Brown,  the  deacon's 
eldest  daughter,  a  rosy-cheeked,  pleasant-faced  girl,  to 
whom  I  had  been  introduced  the  week  before.  Instantly 
she  was  clothed  upon  with  a  new  interest  in  my  eyes,  and 
I  saluted  her  with  empressement ;  if  not  the  rose,  she  at 
least  was  the  clay  that  was  imbibing  the  perfume  of  the 
rose ;  and  I  don't  doubt  that  my  delight  at  seeing  her  as- 


THE  ENCHANTED  GROUND.  59 

sumed  the  appearance  of  personal  admiration.  "  What  a 
charming  Sunday,'1 1  said,  with  emphasis.  "  Perfectly  charm- 
ing," said  Miss  Brown,  sympathetically. 

"  You  have  an  interesting  young  friend  staying  with  you, 
I  observe,"  said  I. 

"Who,  Miss  Ellery?  oh,  yes.  Oh! Mr.  Henderson,  she 
is  the  sweetest  girl !"  said  Dotha,  with  effusion. 

I  did  n't  doubt  it,  and  listened  eagerly  to  her  praises,  and 
was  grateful  to  Miss  Brown  for  the  warm  invitation  to 
"call"  which  followed.  Miss  Ellery  was  to  make  them  a 
long  visit,  and  she  would  be  so  happy  to  introduce  me. 

That  evening  Miss  Ellery  was  a  topic  of  excited  discus- 
sion in  our  entry,  and  Jim  Fellows  plumed  himself  largely 
on  his  Mount  Desert  experiences,  which  he  related  in  a 
way  to  produce  the  impression  that  he  had  been  regarded 
with  a  favorable  eye  by  the  divinity. 

I  was  in  a  state  of  silent  indignation,  at  him,  at  all  the 
rest  of  the  boys,  at  everybody  in  general,  being  fully  per- 
suaded that  they  were  utterly  incapable  of  understanding 
or  appreciating  this  wonderful  creature. 

"  Hal,  why  don't  you  talk?"  said  one  of  them  to  me,  when 
I  had  sat  silent,  pretending  to  read  for  a  long  time ;  "  What 
do  you  think  of  her  P 

"  Oh,  I'm  no  ladies'  man,  as  you  all  know,"  I  said,  evas- 
ively, and  actually  pretended  not  to  have  remarked  Miss 
Kllcvy  except  in  a  cursory  manner. 

Then  followed  a  period  of  weeks  and  months,  when  that 
one  image  was  never  for  a  moment  out  of  niy  thoughts. 
By  a  strange  law  of  our  being,  a  certain  idea  can  accom- 
pany us  everywhere,  not  stopping  or  interrupting  the  course 
of  the  thought,  but  going  on  in  a  sort  of  shadowy  way  with 
it,  as  an  invisible  presence. 

The  man  or  woman  who  cherishes  an  ideal  is  always 
liable  to  this  accident,  that  the  spiritual  image  often  de- 
scends like  a  mantle,  and  invests  some  very  ordinary  per- 
son, who  is,  for  the  time  being,  transfigured, — "  a  woman 
clothed  with  the  sun,  and  with  the  moon  under  her  feet." 


(50  MY  WIFE  AND  L 

It  is  not  what  there  is  in  the  person,  but  what  there  is  in 
us,  that  gives  this  passage  in  life  its  critical  power.  It  would 
seem  as  if  there  were  in  some  men,  and  some  women, 
preparation  for  a  grand  interior  illumination  and  passion, 
like  that  hoard  of  mystical  gurns  and  spices  which  the 
phenix  was  fabled  to  prepare  for  its  funeral  pile ;  all  the 
aspiration  and  poetry  and  romance,  the  upheaval  toward  an 
infinite  and  eternal  good,  a  divine  purity  and  rest,  may  be 
enkindled  by  the  touch  of  a  very  ordinary  and  earthly 
hand,  and,  burning  itself  out,  leave  only  cold  ashes  of  ex- 
perience. 

Miss  Ellery  was  a  well-bred  young  lady,  of  decorous  and 
proper  demeanor,  of  careful  religious  education,  of  no  par- 
ticular strength  either  of  mind  or  emotion,  good  tempered, 
and  with  an  instinctive  approbativeness  that  made  her 
desirous  to  please  every  body,  which  created  for  her  the 
reputation  that  Miss  Brown  expressed  in  calling  her  "  a 
sweet  girl."  She  was  always  most  agreeable  to  those  with 
whom  she  was  thrown,  and  for  the  time  being  appeared 
to  be,  and  was  sincerely  interested  in  them  ;  but  her  mind 
was  like  a  well-polished  looking-glass,  retaining  not  a 
trace  of  anything  absent  or  distant. 

She  was  gifted  by  nature  with  wonderful  beauty,  and 
beauty  of  that  peculiar  style  that  stirs  the  senses  of  the 
poetical  and  the  ideal ;  her  gentle  approbativeness,  and 
the  graceful  facility  of  her  manner,  were  such  as  not  at 
least  to  destroy  the  visions  which  her  beauty  created.  In  a 
quiet  way  she  enjoyed  being  adored — made  love  to,  but  she 
never  overstepped  the  bounds  of  strict  propriety.  She  re- 
ceived me  with  graciousness,  and  I  really  think  found  some- 
thing in  my  society  which  was  agreeably  stimulating  to 
her.  1  was  somewhat  out  of  the  common  track  of  her 
adorers;  my  ardor  and  enthusiasm  gave  her  a  new  emotion. 
I  wrote  poems  to  her,  which  she  read  with  a  graceful  pen- 
siveness  and  laid  away  among  her  trophies  in  her  private 
writing-desk.  I  called  her  my  star,  my  inspiration,  my 
ight,  and  she  beamed  down  on  me  with  a  pensive  purity. 
"  Yes,  she  was  delighted  to  have  me  read  Tennyson  to  her," 


THE  ENCHANTED  GROUND.  gj 

and  many  an  hour  when  I  should  have  been  studying,  I 
was  lounging  in  the  little  front  parlor  of  the  Brown  house, 
fancying  myself  Sir  Galahad,  and  reading  with  emotion, 
how  his  "  blade  was  strong,  because  his  heart  was  pure ;" 
and  Miss  Ellery  murmured  "  How  lovely !"  and  I  was  in 
paradise. 

And  then  there  came  wonderful  moonlight  evenings^ 
evenings  when  every  leaf  stirring  had  a  penciled  reproduc- 
tion flickering  in  light  and  shade  on  the  turf;  and  we 
walked  together  under  arches  of  elm  trees,  and  I  talked  and 
quoted  poetry ;  and  she  listened  and  assented  in  tne  sweet- 
est manner  possible.  All  my  hopes,  my  plans,  my  dreams, 
my  speculations,  my  philosophies,  came  out  to  sun  them- 
selves under  the  magic  of  those  lustrous  eyes.  Her  replies 
and  utterances  were  greatly  in  disproportion  to  mine;  but 
1  received  them,  and  made  much  of  them,  as  of  old  the 
priests  of  Delphi  did  with  those  of  the  inspired  maiden. 
There  must  be  deep  meaning  in  it  all,  because  she  was  a 
priestess ;  and  1  was  not  backward  to  supply  it. 

I  have  often  endo  vored  to  analyze  the  sources  of  the 
illusion  cast  over  men  by  such  characters  as  that  of  Miss 
Ellery.  In  their  case  the  instinctive  action  of  approbativo- 
ness  assumes  !he  semblance  of  human  sympathy,  and  brings 
them  for  the  time  being  into  the  life-sphere,  and  under  the 
influence,  of  any  person  whom  they  wish  to  please,  so  that 
they  with  a  temporary  sincerity  reflect  back  the  ideas  and 
feelings  of  others.  There  is  just  the  same  illusive  sort  of 
charm  in  this  reflection  of  our  own  thoughts  and  emotions 
from  another  mind,  as  there  is  in  the  reflection  of  objects  in 
a  placid  lake.  There  is  no  warmth  and  no  reality  to  it; 
and  yet,  for  the  time  being,  it  is  often  the  most  entrancing 
thing  in  the  world,  and  gives  back  to  you  the  glow  of  your 
own  heart,  the  fervor  of  your  imagination,  and  even  every 
little  flower  of  fancy,  and  twig  of  feeling,  with  a  wonderful 
faithfulness  of  reproduction. 

It  is  not  real  sympathy,  because,  like  the  image  in  the 
lake,  it  is  only  there  when  you  are  present ;  and  when  you 
are  away,  reflects  with  equal  facility  the  next  comer. 


62  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

But  men  always  have  been,  and  to  the  end  of  time  al- 
ways will  be,  fascinated  by  such  women,  and  will  suppose 
this  mere  reflecting  power  of  a  highly  polished  surface  to 
be  the  sympathetic  response  for  which  the  heart  longs. 

So  I  had  no  doubt  that  Miss  Ellery  was  a  woman  of  all 
sorts  of  high  literary  tastes  and  moral  heroisms,  for  there 
was  nothing  so  high  or  so  deep  in  the  aspirations  of  poets  or 
sages  in  my  readings  to  her,  that  could  not  be  reflected 
and  glorified  in  those  wonderful  eyes. 

Neither  are  such  women  hypocrites,  as  they  are  often 
called.  What  they  give  back  to  you  is  for  the  time  being 
a  sincere  reflection,  and  if  there  is  no  depth  to  it,  if  it 
passes  away  with  the  passing  hour,  it  is  simply  because 
their  natures — smooth,  shallow,  and  cold — have  no  deeper 
power  of  retention. 

The  fault  lies  in  expecting  more  of  a  thing  than  there  is 
in  its  nature — a  fault  we  shall  more  or  less  all  go  on  commit- 
ting till  the  great  curtain  falls. 

I  wrote  all  about  her  to  my  mother;  and  received  the  usual 
cautionary  maternal  epistle,  reminding  me  that  I  was  yet 
far  from  that  goal  in  life  when  I  was  warranted  in  asking 
any  woman  to  be  my  wife ;  and  suggesting  that  my  taste 
might  later  with  maturity ;  warning  me  against  premature 
commitments — in  short,  saying  all  that  good,  anxious 
mothers  usually  say  to  young  juniors  in  college  in  similar 
circumstances. 

In  reply,  I  told  my  mother  that  I  had  found  a  woman 
worthy  the  devotion  of  a  life — a  woman  who  would  be  in- 
spiration and  motive  and  reward.  I  extolled  her  purity 
and  saintliness.  I  told  my  mother  that  she  was  forming 
and  leading  me  to  all  that  was  holy  and  noble.  In  short  I 
meant  to  win  her  though  the  seven  labors  of  Hercules  were 
to  be  performed  seven  times  over  to  reach  her. 

Now  the  fact  is,  my  mother  might  have  saved  herself 
her  anxiety.  Miss  Ellery  was  perfectly  willing  to  be  my 
guiding  star,  my  inspiration,  my  light,  within  reasonable 
limits,  while  making  a  visit  in  an  otherwise  rather  dull  town. 


THE  ENCHANTED  GROUND.  63 

She  liked  to  be  read  to ;  she  liked  the  consciousness  of 
being  incessantly  admired,  and  would  have  made  a  very 
good  image  for  some  Church  of  the  Perpetual  Adoration ; 
but  after  all,  Miss  Ellery  was  as  incapable  of  forming  an 
ineligible  engagement  of  marriage  with  a  poor  college 
student,  as  the  most  sensible  and  collected  of  Walter  Scott's 
heroines. 

Looking  back  upon  this  part  of  my  life,  I  can  pity  myself 
with  as  quiet  and  dispassionate  a  perception  as  if  I  were  a 
third  person.  The  illusion,  for  the  time  being,  was  so  real, 
the  feelings  called  up  by  it  so  honest  and  earnest  and 
sacred ;  and  supposing  there  had  been  a  tangible  reality  to 
it— what  might  not  such  a  woman  have  made  of  me,  or  of 
any  man  ? 

And  suppose  it  pleased  God  to  send  forth  an  army  of  such 
women,  as  1  thought  her  to  be,  among  the  lost  children  of 
men,  women  armed  not  only  with  the  outward  and  visible 
sign  of  beauty,  but  with  that  inward  and  spiritual  grace 
which  beauty  typifies,  one  might  believe  that  the  golden  age 
would  soon  be  back  upon  us. 

Miss  Ellery  adroitly  avoided  all  occasions  of  any  critical 
commitment  on  my  part  or  on  her's.  Women  soon  learn  a  vast 
amount  of  tact  and  diplomacy  on  that  subject •  but  she  gave 
me  to  understand  that  I  was  peculiarly  congenial  to  her,  and 
encouraged  the  outflow  of  all  my  romance  with  the  gentlest 
atmosphere  of  indulgence.  To  be  sure,  I  was  not  the  only 
one  whom  she  thus  held  with  bonds  of  golden  gossamer.  She 
reigned  a  queen,  and  had  a  court  at  her  fest,  and  the 
deacon's  square,  white,  prosaic  house  bristled  with  the  ac- 
tivity and  vivacity  of  Miss  Ellery's  adorers. 

Among  them.  Will  Marshall  was  especially  distinguished. 
Will  was  a  senior,  immensely  rich,  good-natured  as  the 
longest  summer  day  is  long,  but  so  idle  and  utterly  incapa- 
ble of  culture  that  only  the  liberali tyof  the  extra  sum  paid  to 
a  professor  who  held  him  in  guardianship  secured  his  stay  in 
college  classes.  It  has  been  my  observation  that  money 
will  secure  a  great  variety  of  things  in  this  lower  world,  and 


64  Jf  Ir  WIFE  AND  I. 

among  others,  will  cany  a  very  stupid  fellow  through  col- 
lege. 

Will  was  a  sort  of  favorite  with  us  all.  His  good  nature 
was  without  limit,  and  he  scattered  his  money  with  a  free 
hand,  and  so  we  generally  spoke  of  him  as  "Poor  Will;"  a 
nice  fellow,  if  he  couldn't  write  a  decent  note,  and  blundered 
through  all  his  recitations. 

Will  laid  himself,  so  to  speak,  at  Miss  Ellery's  feet.  He 
was  flush  of  bouqiiets  and  confectionery.  He  caused  the  vil- 
lage livery  stable  to  import  forthwith  a  turnout  worthy  to  be 
a  car  of  Venus  herself. 

I  saw  all  this,  but  it  never  entered  my  head  that  Miss 
EUery  would  cast  a  moment's  thought  other  than  those  of 
the  gentlest  womanly  compassion  on  poor  Will  Marshall. 

The  time  of  the  summer  vacation  drew  nigh,  and  with  the 
close  of  the  term  closed  the  vision  of  my  idyllic  experiences 
with  Miss  Ellery.  To  the  last,  she  was  so  gentle  and  easy 
to  be  entreated.  Her  lovely  eyes  cast  on  me  such  bright 
encouraging  glances ;  and  she  accorded  me  a  farewell  moon- 
light ramble,  wherein  I  walked  not  on  earth,  but  in  the 
seventh  heaven  of  felicity.  Of  course  there  was  nothing 
definite.  I  told  her  that  I  was  a  poor  soldier  of  fortune,  but 
might  I  only  wear  her  name  in  my  bosom,  it  would  be  a 
sacred  talisman,  and  give  strength  to  my  arm,  and  she 
sighed,  and  looked  lovely,  and  she  did  not  say  me  nay. 

I  went  home  to  my  mother,  and  wearied  that  much -en- 
during woman,  all  through  the  vacation,  with  the  hot  and 
cold  fits  of  my  fever.  Blessed  souls!  these  mothers,  who 
bear  and  watch  and  rear  the  restless  creatures,  who  by 
and  by  come  to  them  with  the  very  heart  gone  out  of  them 
for  love  of  another  woman — sonic  idle  girl,  perhaps,  that 
never  knew  what  i  t  was  either  to  love  or  care,  and  that  plays 
with  hearts  as  kittens  do  with  pinballs! 

1  wrote  to  Miss  Ellery  letters  long,  overflowing,  and  got 
back  little  neatly -worded  notes  on  scented  paper,  speaking 
in  a  general  way  of  the  charms  of  friendship. 

But  the  first  news  that  met  me  on  my  return  to  college 
broke  my  soap-bubble  at  one  touch. 


J^ 


MY  DREA  M-  WIFE. 

"  7  told  her  thai  I  WIM  a  poor  unit  Her  <>f  fortune,  hut  might-  I  only  wear 
her  name  in  my  bositm,  it  would  be  a  nacre:l  talisman,  and  give  strength, 
tn  my  arm; and  she  xighed  and  looted  lovely,  and  she  did  not  nay  me  nov-" 


THE  ENCHANTED  GROUND.  65 

"  Hurrah !  Hal — who  do  you  guess  is  engaged  T' 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Guess." 

" 1  couldn't  guess." 

"  Why,  Miss  Ellery— engaged  to  Bill  Marshall." 

Alnaschar,  in  the  Arabian  tale,  could  not  have  been  more 
astonished  when  his  basket  of  glass-ware  fell  in  glittering 
nothingness.  I  stood  stupid  with  astonishment. 

"  She  engaged  to  Will  Marshall  '—why,  boys,  he's  a  fool !" 

"  IJiit  you  see  he's  rich.  Oh,  it's  all  arranged;  they  are  to  be 
married  next  mouth,  and  go  to  Europe  for  their  wedding 
tour,"  said  Jim  Fellows. 

And  so  my  idol  fell  from  its  pedestal — and  my  first  dream 
dissolved. 


66  MY  WIFE  4.ND  I. 

CHAPTER    VII. 

THE  VALLEY  OF  HUMILIATION. 

[SS  ELLERY  was  sufficiently  mistress  of  herself, 
and  of  circumstances,  to  close  our  little  pastoral 
in  the  most  graceful  and  amiable  manner  possible. 

I  received  a  beautiful  rose-scented  note  from  her,  saying 
that  the  very  kind  interest  in  her  happiness  which  I  always 
had  expressed,  and  the  extremely  pleasant  friendship 
which  had  arisen  between  us,  made  her  desirous  of  infor- 
ming me,  &c.,  &c.  Thereupon  followed  the  announcement 
of  her  engagement,  terminating  with  the  assurance  that 
whatever  new  ties  she  might  form,  or  scenes  she  might  visit, 
she  should  ever  cherish  a  pleasant  remembrance  of  the 
delightful  hours  spent  beneath  the  elms  of  X.,  and  indulge 
the  kindest  wishes  for  my  future  success  and  happiness. 

I,  of  course,  crushed  the  rose-scented  missive  in  my  hand, 
in  the  most  approved  tragical  style,  and  felt  that  I  had  been 
deceived,  betrayed  and  undone.  1  passed  forthwith  into 
that  cynical  state  of  young  manhood,  in  which  one  learns 
for  the  first  time  wnat  a  mere  unimportant  drop  his  own 
most  terribly  earnest  and  excited  feelings  may  be  in  the 
tumbling  ocean  of  the  existing  world. 

This  is  a  valley  of  humiliation,  which  lies,  in  very  many 
cases,  just  a  day's  walk  beyond  the  palace,  beautiful  with 
all  its  fascinations. 

The  moral  geographer,  John  Bunyan,  to  whom  we  are 
indebted  for  much  wholesome  Information,  tells  us  that 
while  it  is  extremely  difficult  to  descend  gracefully  into  this 
valley,  and  pilgrims  generally  accomplish  it  at  the  ex- 
pense of  many  a  sore  trip  and  stumble,  yet  when  once  they 
are  fairly  down,  it  presents  many  advantages  of  climate 
and  soil  not  other  where  found. 

The  shivering  to  pieces  of  the  first  ideal,  while  it,  breaks 
ruthlessly  and  scatters  much  that  is  really  and  honestly 


THE  VALLEY  OF  HUMILIATION.  67 

good  and  worthy,  breaks  up  no  less  a  certain  stock  of  un- 
conscious self  conceit,  which  young  people  are  none  the 
worse  for  having  lessened. 

The  very  assumption,  so  common  in  the  early  days  of 
life,  that  we  have  feelings  of  a  peculiar  sacredness  above 
the  comprehension  of  the  common  herd,  and  for  which  only 
the  selectest  sympathy  is  possible,  is  one  savoring  a  little 
too  much  of  the  unrcgcncrate  natural  man,  to  be  safely 
let  alone  to  grow  and  thrive. 

Natures,  in  particular,  where  ideality  is  largely  in  the 
ascendant,  are  apt  to  begin  life  with  the  scheme  of  building 
a  high  and  thick  stone  wall  of  reticence  around  themselves, 
and  enthroning  therein  an  idol,  whose  rites  and  service  are 
to  be  performed  with  a  contemptuous  indifferenceto  all  the 
rest  of  mankind. 

When  this  idol  is  suddenly  disenchanted  by  some  stroke 
of  inevitable  reality,  and  we  discern  that  the  image  which 
we  had  supposed  to  be  the  shrine  of  a  divinity,  is  only  a 
very  earthly  doll,  stuffed  with  saw-dust,oue's  pinnacles  and 
battlements — the  whole  temple  in  short,  that  we  have  prided 
ourselves  on,  conies  tumbling  down  about  us  like  the  walls 
of  Jericho,  not  without  a  certain  sense  of  the  ridiculous. 
Though,  like  other  afflictions,  this  is  not  for  the  present 
joyous,  still  the  space  thus  cleared  in  our  mind  may  be  so 
cultivated  as  afterwards  to  bring  forth  peaceable  fruits  of 
righteousness. 

In  my  case,  my  idol  was  utterly  defaced  and  destroyed 
in  my  eyes,  because  I  could  not  conceal  from  myself  that 
she  w;is  making  a  marriage  wholly  without  the  one  ele- 
ment that  above  all  others  marriage  requires. 

MissEllery  was  perfectly  well  aware  of  the  mental  in- 
feriority of  poor  Bill  Marshall,  and  had  listened  unreprov- 
ingly  to  the  half-contemptuous  pity  with  which  it  was  cus- 
tomary among  us  to  speak  of  him.  1  remembered  how 
patronizingly  I  had  often  talked  of  him  to  her,  "Really 
not  a  bad  fellow— only  a  littlo  weak,  you  see;"  and  the 
pretty,  graceful  drollery  in  her  eyes.  1  remembered  things 


68  MY  WIFE  AND  1. 

that  these  same  eyes  had  looked  at  me,  when  he  blundered 
and  miscalled  words  in  conversation,  and  a  thousand  say- 
ings antl  intimations,  each  by  itself  indefinite  as  the  bound- 
ary between  two  tints  of  the  rainbow,  by  which  she  showed 
a  superior  sense  of  pleasure  in  my  conversation  and  society. 

And  was  all  this  acting  and  insincerity  ?  I  thought  not. 
I  was  and  am  fully  convinced  that  had  1  only  been  pos- 
sessed of  the  wealth  of  Bill  Marshall,  Miss  Eilery  would 
infinitely  have  preferred  me  as  a  life  companion  ;  and  it  was 
no  very  serious  amount  of  youthful  vanity  to  imagine  that 
I  should  have  proved  a  more  entertaining  one.  I  can  easily 
imagine  that  she  made  the  decision  with  some  gentle  re- 
gret at  first,— regret  dried  up  like  morning  dew  in  the  full 
sunlight  of  wedding  diamonds,  and  capable  of  being  put 
completely  to  sleep  upon  a  couch  of  cashmere  shawls. 

With  what  indignant  bitterness  did  1  listen  to  all  the 
details  of  the  impending  wedding  from  fluent  Jim  Fel- 
lows, who,  being  from  Portland  and  well  posted  in  all  the 
gossip  of  the  circle  in  which  she  moved,  enlightened  our 
entry  with  daily  and  weekly  bulletins  of  the  grandeur  and 
splendors  that  were  being,  and  to  be. 

"  Boys,  only  think  !  Her  wedding  present  from  him  is  a 
set  of  diamonds  valued  at  twenty-five  thousand  dollars. 
Bob  Rivers  saw  them  on  exhibition  at  Tiffany's.  Then  she 
has  three  of  the  most  splendid  cashmere  shawls  that  ever 
were  imported  into  Maine.  Captain  Sautelle  got  them  from 
an  Indian  Prince,  and  there's  no  saying  what  they  would 
have  cost  at  usual  rates.  I  tell  you  Bill  is  going  it  in  style, 
and  they  are  going  to  be  married  with  drums  and  trumpets, 
cymbals  and  dances ;  such  a  wedding  as  will  make  old  Port- 
land stare  ;  and  then  off  they  are  going  to  travel  no  end  of 
time  in  Europe,  and  see  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  world, 
and  the  glory  of  them." 

Now,  1  suppose  none  of  us  doubted  that  could  Miss  Eilery 
have  attained  the  diamonds  and  the  cashmeres  and  the 
fortune,  with  all  its  possibilities  of  luxury  and  self-indul- 
gence, without  the  addition  of  the  husband,  nothing  would 


THE  VALLE Y  OF  11 VM1L1A TION.  fi 9 

have  been  wanting  to  complete  her  good  fortune;  but  it 
is  a  condition  in  the  way  of  a  woman's  making  a  fortune  by 
marriage,  as  it  was  with  Faust's  compact  with  an  unmen- 
tionable party,  that  it  can  only  be  ratified  by  the  sacrifice 
of  herself — herself,  and  for  life !  A  sacrifice  most  awful 
and  holy  \vlien  made  in  pure  love,  and  most  fearful  when 
made  for  any  other  consideration.  The  fact  that  Miss 
Ellery  could  make  it  was  immediate  and  complete  disen- 
cliant  ineiit  to  me. 

Mine  is  not,  I  suppose,  the  only  case  where  the  ideal 
which  has  been  formed  under  the  brooding  influence  of  a 
noble  mother  is  shattered  by  the  hand  of  a  woman.  Some 
woman,  armed  with  the  sacramental  power  of  beauty,  en- 
kindles the.  highest  manliness  of  the  youth,  and  is,  in  his 
eyes,  the  incarnate  form  of  purity  and  unworldly  virtue,  the 
high  prize  andincitement  to  valor,  patience,  constancy  and 
courage,  in  the  great  life-battle. 

But  she  sells  herself  before  his  eyes,  for  diamonds  and 
laces,  and  trinkets  and  perfumes  ;  for  the  liberty  of  walking 
on  soft  carpets  and  singing  in  gilded  cages ;  and  all  the 
world  laughs  at  his  simplicity  in  supposing  that,  a  fair 
chance  given,  any  woman  would  ever  do  otherwise.  Is  not 
he.utty  woman's  capital  in  trade,  the  price  put  into  her 
hand  to  get  whatever  she  needs;  and  are  not  the  most 
beautiful,  as  a  matter  of  course,  destined  prizes  of  the 
richest  1 

Miss  Kllery's  marriage  was  to  me  a  great  awakening,  a 
coming  out  of  a  life  of  pure  ideas  and  sentiment  into  one 
of  external  realities.  Hitherto,  I  had  lived  only  with  people 
all  whose  measures  and  valuations  had  been  those  relating 
to  the  character — the  intellect  and  the  heart..  Never  in  my 
father's  house  had  I  heard  the  gaining  of  money  spoken  of 
as  success  in  life,  except  as  far  as  money  was  needed  to 
advance  education,  and  education  was  a  means  for  doing 
good.  My  father  had  his  zeal,  his  earnestness,  his  exulta- 
tions, but  they  all  related  to  things  to  be  done  in  his  lit'e- 
work  ;  the  saving  of  souls,  the  conversion  of  sinners,  the 


70  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

gathering  of  churches,  the  repression  of  intemperance  and 
immorality,  the  advancement  of  education.  My  elder  brothers 
had  successfully  entered  the  ministry  under  his  influence, 
and  in  counsels  with  them  where  to  settle,  I  had  never  heard 
the  question  of  salary  or  worldly  support  even  discussed. 
The  first,  the  only  question  I  ever  heard  considered,  was 
What  work  was  needed  to  be  done,  and  what  fitness  for  the 
doing  of  it ;  taking  for  granted  the  record,  that  where  the 
Kingdom  of  God  and  its  righteousness  were  first  sought, 
all  things  would  be  added. 

Thus  all  my  visions  of  future  life  had  in  them  something 
of  the  innocent  verdancy  of  the  golden  age,  when  noble 
men  strove  for  the  favor  of  fair  women,  by  pureness,  by 
knowledge,  by  heroism, — and  the  bravest  won  the  crown 
from  the  hand  of  the  most  beautiful. 

And  suddenly  to  my  awakened  eyes  the  whole  rushing 
cavalcade  of  fashionable  life  swept  by,  bearing  my  princess, 
amid  waving  feathers  and  flashing  jewels  and  dazzling  robes 
and  merry  laughs  and  jests,  leaving  me  by  the  way-side 
dazed  and  covered  with  dust,  to  plod  on  alone. 

Now  first  I  felt  the  shame  which  comes  over  a  young  man, 
that  he  has  not  known  the  world  as  old  wordlings  know  it. 

In  the  discussions  among  the  boys,  relating  to  this  mar- 
riage, I  first  learned  the  power  of  that  temptation  which 
comes  upon  every  young  man  to  look  on  wealth  as  the  first 
object  in  a  life  race. 

Woman  is  by  order  of  nature  the  conservator  of  the  ideal. 
Formed  of  finer  clay,  with  nicer  perceptions,  and  refined 
fiber,  she  is  the  appointed  priestess  to  guard  the  poetry  of 
life  from  sacrilege;  but  if  she  be  bribed  to  betray  the 
shrine,  what  hope  for  us  ?  "  If  the  salt  have  lost  its  savor, 
wherewith  shall  it  be  salted  ?" 

My  acquaintance  with  Miss  Ellery  had  brought  me  out 
of  my  scholastic  retirement,  and  made  me  an  acquaint- 
ance of  the  whole  bevy  of  the  girls  of  X.  Miss  Ellery  had 
been  invited  and  leted  in  all  the  families,  and  her  special 
train  of  adorers  had  followed  her,  and  thus  I  was  "au 


THE  VALLEY  OF  HUMILIATION.  71 

con  rant"  of  nil  the  existing  girl-world  of  our  little  town, 
li  was  curious  to  remark  what  a  silken  flutter  of  wings, 
what  an  endless  volubility  of  tongues  there  was,  about  this 
engagement  and  marriage,  and  how,  on  the  whole,  it  was 
treat <-d  as  the  height  of  splendor  and  good  fortune.  My 
rosy-laced  friend,  Miss  Dot  ha,  was  invited  to  the  festival  as 
bridesmaid,  and  returned  thereafter  "trailing  clouds  of 
glory"  into  the  primitive  circles  of  X;  and  my  cynical 
bitterness  of  soul  took  a  sort  of  perverse  pleasure  in  the  am- 
plitieations  and  discussions  that  I  constantly  heard  in  the 
tea-drinking  circles  of  the  town. 

"oh,  girls,  you've  no  idea  about  those  diamonds,"  said 
Miss  Dotha:  "great  big  diamonds  as  large  as  peas,  and  just 
as  clear  as  water!  Bill  Marshall  made  them  send  orders 
to  Kurope  specially  for  the  purpose ;  then  she  had  a  pearl 
set  that  his  mother  gave,  and  his  sister  gave  an  amethyst 
set  fora  breakfast  suit!  and  you  ought  to  have  seen  the 
presents!  It  was  a  perfect  bazar!  The  Marshalls  are  an 
enormously  rich  family,  and  they  all  came  down  splendidly  : 
old  uncle  Tom  Marshall  gave  a  solid  silvei  dining  set 
embossed  with  gold,  and  old  Aunt  Tabitha  Marshall  gave 
a  real  Sevres  china  tea-set,  that  was  taken  out  of  one  of 
the  royal  palaces  in  France,  at  the  time  of  the  French 
Revolution.  Captain  Atkins  was  in  France  about  the  time 
they  were  sacking  palaces,  and  doing  all  such  things,  and  he 
brought  away  quite  a  number  of  things  that  found  their 
way  into  some  of  these  rich  old  Portland  families.  Her 
wedding  veil  was  given  by  old  Grandmamma  Marshall,  and 
\\as  said  to  have  been  one  that  belonged  to  Queen  Marie 
Antoinette,  taken  by  some  of  those  horrid  women  when  they 
sacked  the  Tuilleries,  and  sold  to  Captain  Atkins ;  at  any 
rate,  it  was  the  most  wonderful  point  lace,  just  like  an  old 
picture." 

Fa  ncy  the  drawing  of  breaths,  the  exclamations,  the  groans 
of  delight,  from  a  knot  of  pretty,  well-dressed,  nice  country 
girls,  at  these  wonderful  glimpses  into  Paradise. 

"  After  all,"  I  said,  "  I  think  this  custom  of  loading  down  a 


72  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

woman  with  finery  just  at  her  marriage  hour,  is  giving  it 
when  she  is  least  able  to  appreciate  it.  Why  distract  her 
with  gew-gaws  at  the  very  moment  when  her  heart  must 
be  so  full  of  a  new  affection  that  she  cares  for  nothing  else  ? 
Miss  Ellery  is  probably  so  lost  in  her  love  for  Mr.  Marshall, 
that  she  scarcely  gives  a  thought  to  these  things,  and  really 
forgets  that  she  has  them.  It  would  be  much  more  in  point 
to  give  them  to  some  girl  that  hasn't  a  lover." 

I  spoke  with  a  simple,  serious  air,  as  if  I  had  most  per- 
fect faith  in  my  words,  and  a  general  gentle  smile  of  amuse- 
ment went  round  the  circle,  rippling  into  a  laugh  out-right, 
on  the  faces  of  some  of  the  gayer  girls.  Miss  Dotha  said : 

"  Oh,  come,  now,  Mr.  Henderson,  you  are  too  severe." 

" Severe !"  said  I ;  "I  can't  understand  what  you  mean, 
Miss  Dotha.  You  don't  mean,  of  course,  to  intimate  that 
Miss  Ellery  is  not  in  love  with  the  man  she  has  married  f 

"  Oh,  now !"  said  Miss  Dotha,  laughing,  "  you  know  per- 
fectly, Mr.  Henderson — we  all  know — it's  pretty  well  un- 
derstood, that  this  wasn't  exactly  what  you  call  a  love- 
match  ;  in  fact,  I  know,"  she  added  with  the  assurance  of 
a  confidant,  "that  she  had  great  difficulty  in  making  up 
her  mind ;  but  her  family  were  very  anxious  for  the  match, 
and  his  family  thought  it  would  be  such  a  good  thing  for 
him  to  marry  and  settle  down,  you  know,  so  one  way  and 
another  she  concluded  to  take  him." 

"And,  after  all,  Will  Marshall  is  a  good-natured  creature," 
said  Miss  Smith. 

"  And  going  to  Europe  is  such  a  temptation,"  said  Miss 
Brown. 

"  And  she  must  marry  some  time,"  said  Miss  Jones,  "  and 
one  can't  have  every  thing,  you  know.  Will  is  certain  to  be 
kind  to  her,  and  let  her  have  her  own  way." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  pretty  Miss  Green,  "  I'm  free  to  say 
that  I  don't  blame  any  girl  that  has  a  chance  to  get  such 
a  fortune,  for  doing  it  as  Miss  Ellery  has.  I've  always  been 
poor,  and  pinched  and  plagued;  never  can  go  any  where, 
or  see  anything,  or  dress  as  I  want  to  ;  and  if  I  had  a  chance, 


THE  VALLEY  OF  HUMILIATION.  73 

such  as  Miss  Ellery  had,  I  think  I  should  be  a  fool  not  to 
lake  it." 

"  Well."  said  Miss  Black, reflectively,  "the  only  question 
is,  couldn't  Miss  Ellery  have  waited  and  found  a  man  who 
had  more  intellect,  and  more  culture,  whom  she  could  re- 
spect and  love,  and  who  had  money,  too?  She  had  such 
extraordinary  beauty  and  such  popular  manners,  I  should 
have  thought  sl.e  might." 

"Oh,  well,"  said  Miss  Dotha,  "she  was  getting  on — she 
was  three-and-twenty  already — and  nobody  of  just  the  right 
sort  had  turned  up — '  a  bird  in  the  hand  '—you  know.  After 
all,  I  dare  say  she  can  love  Will  Marshall  well  enough." 

!1  '<  //  t'Houyh  !  The  cool  philosophic  tone  of  this  phrase 
smote  on  my  ear  curiously. 

"And  pray,  fair  ladies,  how  much  is  'well  enough?'" 
said  I. 

"  Well  enough  to  keep  the  peace,'1  said  Miss  Green,  "  and 
each  let  the  other  alone,  to  go  their  own  ways  and  have  no 
fighting." 

Miss  Green  was  a  pretty,  spicy  little  body,  with  a  pair  of 
provoking  hazel  eyes  ;  who  talked  like  an  unprincipled 
little  pirate,  though  she  generally  acted  like  a  nice  woman. 
In  less  than  a  year  after,  by  the  by,  she  married  a  home 
missionary,  i:i  Maine,  and  has  been  a  devoted  wife  and 
mother  in  a  little  parish  somewhere  in  the  region  of  Skow- 
hegan,  ever  since. 

But  I  returned  to  my  room  gloriously  misanthropic,  and 
for  some  time  my  thoughts,  like  bees,  were  busy  gathering 
bitter  honey.  I  gave  up  visiting  in  the  tea-drinking  circles 
of  X.  I  got  myself  a  dark  sombrero  hat,  which  I  slouched 
down  over  my  eyes  in  bandit  style  when  I  walked  the  street 
and  met  with  any  of  my  former  gentle  acquaintances.  I 
wrote  my  mother  most  sublime  and  awful  letters  on  the 
inconceivable  vanity  and  nothingness  of  human  life.  I 
read  Plato  and  ^Eschylus,  and  Emerson's  Essays,  and 
began  to  think  myself  an  old  Philosopher  risen  from  the 
dead.  There  was  a  melancholy  gravity  about  all  my  college 


74  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

exercises,  and  I  began  to  look  clown  on  young  freshmen 
and  sophomores  with  a  serene  compassion,  as  a  sage  who  lias 
passed  through  the  vale  of  years  and  learned  that  all  is 
vanity. 

The  valley  of  humiliation  may  have  its  charms— it  is  said 
that  there  are  many  flowers  that  grow  there,  and  nowhere 
else,  but  for  all  that,  a  young  fellow,  so  far  as  I  know, 
generally  walks  through  the  first  part  of  it  in  rather  a  surly 
and  unamiable  state. 

To  be  sure,  had  I  been  wise,  I  should  have  been  ready  to 
return  thanks  on  my  knees  for  my  disappointment.  True, 
the  doll  was  stuffed  Avith  saw-dust,  but  it  was  not  my 
doll.  I  had  not  learned  the  cheat  when  it  was  forever  too 
late  to  help  myself,  and  was  not  condemned  to  spend  life  in 
vain  attempts  to  make  a  warm,  living  friend  of  a  cold 
marble  statue.  Many  a  man  has  succeeded  in  getting  his 
first  ideal,  and  been  a  miserable  man  always  thereafter,  and 
therefor. 

I  have  lived  to  hear  very  tranquilly  of  Mrs.  Will  Marshall's 
soirees  and  parties,  as  she  reigns  in  the  aristocratic  circles 
of  New  York ;  and  to  see  her,  still  like  a  polished  looking- 
glass,  gracefully  reflecting  every  one's  whims  and  tastes 
and  opinions  with  charming  sauv-ity,  and  forgetting  them 
when  their  backs  are  turned ;  and  to  think  that  she  is  the 
right  thing  in  the  right  place — a  crowned  Queen  of  Vanity 
Fair. 

1  have  become,  too,  very  tolerant  and  indulgent  to  the 
women  who  do  as  she  did, — use  their  own  charms  as  the 
coin  wherewith  to  buy  the  riches  and  honors  of  the  world. 

The  world  has  been  busy  for  some  centuries  in  shutting 
and  locking  every  door  through  which  a  woman  could  step 
into  wealth,  except  the  door  of  marriage.  All  vigor  and 
energy,  such  as  men  put  forth  to  get  this  golden  key  of  life, 
is  condemned  and  scouted  as  unf  eminine  ;  and  a  woman 
belonging  to  the  upper  classes,  who  undertakes  to  get 
wealth  by  honest  exertion  and  independent  industry,  loses 
caste,  and  is  condemned  by  a  thousand  voices  as  an  oddity 


THE  BLUE  MISTS.  75 

and  a  deranged  person.  A  woman  gifted  with  beauty,  who 
sells  it  to  buy  wealth,  is  far  more  leniently  handled.  That 
way  of  getting  money  is  not  called  unwomanly  ;  and  so  long 
as  the  whole  force  of  the  world  goes  that  way,  such  marriages 
as  Miss  Ellery's  and  Bill  Marshall's  will  be  considered  en 


76  M Y  WIFE  AND  I. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

THE  BLUE  MISTS. 

v 

college  course  was  at  last  finished  satisfactorily 
to  my  mother  and  friends.  What  joy  there  is  to 
be  got  in  college  honors  was  mine.  I  studied 
faithfully  and  graduated  with  the  valedictory. 

Nevertheless  I  came  back  home  again  a  sadder  if  not  a 
wiser  man  than  I  went.  In  fact  a  tendency  to  fits  of  des- 
pondency and  dejection  had  been  growing  upon  me  in  these 
last  two  years  of  my  college  life. 

With  all  the  self-confidence  and  conceit  that  is  usually 
attributed  to  young  men,  and  of  which  they  have  their 
share  undoubtedly,  they  still  have  their  times  of  walking 
through  troubled  waters,  and  sinking  in  deep  mire  where 
there  is  no  standing. 

During  my  last  year,  the  question  "  What  are  you  good 
for?"'  had  often  borne  down  like  a  nightmare  upon  me. 
When  I  entered  college  all  was  distant,  golden,  indefinite, 
and  I  was  sure  that  I  was  good  for  almost  anything  that 
could  be  named.  Nothing  that  ever  had  been  attained  by 
man  looked  to  me  impossible.  Riches,  honor,  fame,  any 
thing  that  any  other  man  unassisted  had  wrought  out  for 
himself  with  his  own  right  arm,  I  could  work  out  also. 

But  as  I  measured  myself  with  real  tasks,  and  as  I  rubbed 
and  grated  against  other  xninds  and  whirled  round  and 
round  in  the  various  experiences  of  college  life,  I  grew 
smaller  and  smaller  in  my  own  esteem,  and  oftcncr  and 
oftcncr  in  my  lonely  hours  it  seemed  us  if  some  evil  genius 
delighted  to  lord  it  over  me  and  sitting  at  my  bed-side  or 
fire-side  to  say  "  What  are  you  good  for,  to  what  purpose 
all  the  pains  and  money  that  have  been  thrown  away  on 


THE  BLUE  MISTS.  77 

yon  ?  You'll  never  be  anything: ;  you'll  only  mortify  your 
poor  mother  that  has  set  her  heart  on  you,  and  make 
your  Uncle  Jacob  ashamed  of  you."  Can  any  anguish 
equal  the  depths  of  those  blues  in  which  a  man's  whole 
self  hangs  in  suspense  before  his  own  eyes,  and  he  doubts 
whether  he  himself,  with  his  entire  outfit  and  apparatus, 
body,  soul,  and  spirit,  isn't  to  be,  after  all,  a  complete 
failure  ?  Better,  lie  thinks  never  to  have  been  born,  than  to 
be  born  to  no  purpose.  Then  first  he  wrestles  with  the 
question;  What  is  life  for,  and  what  am  I  to  do  or  seek 
in  it  ?  It  seems  to  be  not  without  purpose,  that  the  active 
life-work  of  the  great  representative  Man  of  Men  was 
ushered  in  by  a  forty  days  dreary  wandering  in  the  wilder- 
ness hungry,  faint,  and  tempted  of  the  Devil;  for  certainly, 
al'ii-r  education  has  pretty  thoroughly  waked  up  all  there 
is  in  a  man,  and  the  time  is  at  hand  that  he  is  to  make 
the  decision  what  to  do  with  it,  there  often  comes  a  wander- 
ing, darkened,  unsettled,  tempted  passage  in  his  life.  In 
Christ's  temptations  we  may  see  all  that  besets  the  young 
man. 

The  daily  bread  question,  or  how  to  get  a  living, — the 
ambitious  heavings,  or  the  kingdoms  of  the  world  and  the 
glory  of  them,  all  to  be  got  by  some  yielding  to  Satan, — the 
ostentatious  impulse  to  come  down  on  the  world  with  a  rush 
and  a  sensation, — these  are  mirrored  in  a  young  man'ssmaller 
life  just  as  they  were  in  that  great  life.  The  whole  Heavens 
can  be  reflected  in  the  little  pool  as  in  the  broad  ocean ! 

All  these  elements  of  unrest  had  been  boiling  in  my  mind 
during  the  last  year.  Who  wants  to  be  nothing  in  the  great 
world  I  No  young  man  at  this  time  of  his  course.  The  wis- 
dom of  becoming  nothing  that  he  may  possess  all  things  is 
too  high  for  this  stage  of  immaturity. 

1  came  into  college  as  simple,  and  contented,  and  sat- 
isfied, as  a  huckleberry  bush  in  a  sweet-fern  pasture.  I  felt 
rich  enough  for  all  I  wanted  to  do,  and  my  path  of  life  lay 
before  me  defined  with  great  simplicity. 

But  my  intimacy  with  Miss  Ellery,  her  marriage  and  all 


78  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

that  pertained  to  it,  had  brought  before  my  eyes  the  world 
of  wealth  and  fashion,  a  world  which  a  young  collegian 
may  tiy  to  despise,  and  about  which  he  may  write  the  most 
disparaging  moral  reflections,  but  which  has,  after  all,  its 
power  to  trouble  his  soul .  The  consciousness  of  being  glove- 
less,  and  threadbare  in  toilet,  comes  over  one  in  certain 
atmospheres,  as  the  conscioiisness  of  nakedness  to  Adam 
and  Eve.  It  is  true  that  in  the  institution  where  I  attended, 
as  in  many  other  rural  colleges  in  New  England,  I  was  back- 
ed up  by  a  majority  of  healthy-minded,  hardy  men,  of  real 
mark  and  worth,  children  of  honest  toil  and  self-respecting 
poverty,  who  were  bravely  working  their  way  up  through 
education  to  the  prizes  and  attainments  of  life.  Simple 
economies  were  therefore  well  understood  and  lespected  in 
the  college. 

Nevertheless  there  is  something  not  altogether  vulgar  in 
the  attractions  which  wealth  enables  one  to  throw  around 
himself.  I  was  a  social  favorite  in  college,  and  took  a  stand 
among  my  fellows  as  a  writer  and  speaker,  and  so  had  a 
considerable  share  of  that  sincere  sort  of  flattery  which  col- 
lege boys  lavish  on  each  other.  I  was  invited  and  made 
much  of  by  some  whose  means  were  ample,  whose  apart- 
ments were  luxuriously  and  tastefully  furnished,  but  who 
were  none  the  less  good  scholars  and  high-minded  gentle- 
manly fellows. 

In  their  vacations  I  had  been  invited  to  their  houses,  and 
had  seen  all  the  refinement,  the  repose,  the  ease  and  the  quiet- 
ude that  comes  from  the  possession  of  wealth  in  the  hands  of 
those  who  know  how  to  use  it.  Wealth  in  such  hands  gives 
opportunities  of  the  broadest  culture,  ability  to  live  in  the 
wisest  manner,  freedom  to  choose  the  healthiest  surround- 
ings both  for  mind  and  body,  not  restricted  by  considera- 
tions of  expense ;  and  how  could  I  think  it  anything  else  than 
an  object  ardently  to  be  sought  ? 

It  is  true,  my  rich  friends  seemed  equally  to  enjoy  the  va- 
cations in  my  little,  plain,  mountain  home.  People  gener- 
erally  are  insensible  to  advantages  they  have  always  enjoyed, 


THE  BLUE  MISTS.  79 

and  have  an  appetite  for  something  new;  so  the  homely  rus~ 
tirity  of  our  house,  the  perfect  freedom  from  conventionali- 
ties, the  wild,  mountain  scenery,  the  wholesome  detail  of 
farm  life,  the  barn  with  its  sweet  stores  of  hay,  and  its 
nooks  and  corners  and  hiding  places,  the  gathering  m  of 
our  apples,  and  the  making  of  cider,  the  corn-huskings  and 
Thanksgiving  frolics,  seemed  to  have  their  interest  and 
delights  to  them,  and  they  often  told  me  I  was  a  lucky  fel- 
low to  be  born  to  such  pleasant  surroi  Tidings.  But  I  thought 
within  myself,  It  is  easy  to  say  this  waen  you  feel  the  control 
of  thousands  in  your  pocket,  when  if  you  are  tired  you  can 
go  to  any  land  or  country  of  the  earth  for  change  of  scene. 

In  fact  we  see  in  history  that  the  c/usade  of  St.  Francis  in 
favor  of  Poverty  was  not  begun  1  y  a  poor  man,  but  by  a 
young  nobleman  who  had  known  nothing  hitherto  but 
wealth  and  luxury.  It  is  from  the  rich,  if  from  any,  that  our 
grasping  age  must  learn  renunciation  and  simplicity.  It 
is  easier  to  renounce  a  good  which  one  has  tried  and  of  which 
one  knows  all  the  attendant  thorns  and  stings  than  to  re- 
nounce one  that  has  been  only  painted  by  the  imagina- 
tion, and  whose  want  has  been  keenly  felt.  When  I  came 
to  the  College  I  came  from  the  controlling  power  of  home 
influences.  At  an  early  age  I  had  felt  the  strength  of  that 
sphere  of  spirituality  that  encircled  the  lives  of  my  parents, 
and,  being  very  receptive  and  sympathetic,  had  reflected  in 
my  childish  nature  all  their  feelings. 

I  had  renounced  the  world  before  I  knew  what  the  world 
was.  I  had  joined  my  father's  church  and  was  looked  upon 
as  one  destined  in  time  to  take  up  my  father's  work  of  the 
ministry. 

Four  years  had  passed  and  I  came  back  to  my  mother, 
weakened  and  doubting,  indisposed  to  take  up  the  holy 
work  to  which  in  my  early  days  I  looked  forward  with  en- 
thusiasm, yet  with  all  the  sadness  which  comes  from  inde- 
cision as  to  one's  life-object. 

To  be  a  minister  is  to  embrace  a  life  of  poverty,  of  toil,  of 
self-denial.  To  do  this,  not  "only  with  cheerfulness  but  with 


80  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

an  enthusiasm  which  shall  bear  down  all  before  it,  which 
shall  elevate  it  iiito  the  region  of  moral  poetry  and  ideality, 
requires  a  fervid,  unshaken  faith.  The  man  must  feel  the 
power  of  an  endless  life,  be  lifted  above  things  material 
and  temporal  to  things  sublime  and  eternal. 

Now  it  is  one  peculiarity  of  the  professors  of  the  Christian 
religion  that  they  have  not,  at  least  of  late  years,  arranged 
their  system  of  education  with  any  wise  adaptation  to  hav- 
ing their  young  men  come  out  of  it  Christians.  In  this  they 
differ  from  many  other  religionists.  The  Brahmins  educate 
their  sons  so  that  they  shall  infallibly  become  Brahmins; 
the  Jews  so  that  they  shall  infallibly  be  Jews ;  the  Moham- 
medans so  that  they  shall  be  Mohammedans;  but  the  Chris- 
tians educate  their  sons  so  that  nearly  half  of  them  turn  out 
unbelievers — professors  of  no  religion  at  all. 

There  is  a  book  which  the  Christian  world  unite  in  declar- 
ing to  be  an  infallible  revelation  from  Heaven.  It  has 
been  the  judgment  of  critics  that  the  various  writings  in 
this  volume  excel  other  writings  in  point  of  mere  literary 
merit  as  much  as  they  do  in  purity  and  elevation  of  the 
moral  sentiment.  Yet  it  is  remarkable  that  the  critical 
study  of  these  sacred  writings  in  their  original  tongues 
is  not  in  most  of  our  Christian  colleges  considered  as  an 
essential  part  of  the  education  of  a  Christian  gentleman, 
while  the  heathen  literature  of  Greece  and  Home  is  treated 
as  something  indispensable,  and  to  be  gained  at  all  hazards. 

It  is  a  fact  that  from  the  time  that  the  boy  begins  to  fit 
for  college,  his  mind  is  so  driven  and  pressed  with  the  effort 
to  acquire  the  classical  literature,  that  there  is  no  time  to 
acquire  the  literature  of  the  Bible,  neither  is  it  associated 
in  his  mind  with  the  dignity  and  respect  of  a  classical 
attainment.  He  must  be  familiar  with  Horace  and  Ovid, 
witli  Cicero  and  Plato,  JEschylus  and  Homer  in  their  original 
tongues,  but  the  majestic  poetry  of  the  Old  Testament,  and 
its  sages  and  seers  and  prophets,  become  with  every  advan- 
cing year  more  unintelligible  to  him.  A  thoroughly  educa- 
ted graduate  of  most  of  our  colleges  is  unprepared  to  read 


THE  BLUE  MISTS.  81 

intelligently  many  parts  of  Isaiah  or  Ezekiel  or  Paul's  epis* 
tics.  The  scripture  lessons  of  the  church  service  often 
strike  on  his  ear  as  a  strange  <jii;iini  babble  of  peculiar 
sounds,  without  rhyme  or  reason.  Uncultured  and  unedu- 
cated in  all  that  should  enable  him  to  understand  them,  he 
is  only  preserved  by  a  sort  of  educational  awe  from  regard- 
ing them  as  the  jargon  of  barbarians. 

Meanwhile,  this  literature  of  the  Bible,  strange,  wierd, 
sibylline,  and  full  of  unfulfilled  needs  and  requirements  of 
study,  is  being  assailed  m  detail  through  all  the  courses  of  a 
boy's  college  life.  The  objections  to  it  as  a  divine  revela- 
tion relate  to  critical  questions  in  languages  of  which  he  is 
ignorant,  and  yet  they  are  everywhere;  they  are  in  the 
air  he  breathes,  they  permeate  all  literature,  they  enter 
into  modern  science,  they  disintegrate  and  wear  away,  bit 
by  bit,  his  reverence  and  his  confidence. 

This  work  had  been  going  on  insensibly  in  my  head  dur- 
ing my  college  life,  notwithstanding  the  loyalty  of  my 
heart.  During  those  years  I  had  learned  to  associate  the 
Bible  with  the  most  sacred  memories  of  home,  with  the 
dearest  loves  of  home  life.  It  was  woven  with  remem- 
brances of  daily  gatherings  around  the  family  altar,  with 
scenes  of  deepest  emotion  when  I  had  seen  my  father  and 
mother  fly  to  its  shelter  and  rest  upon  its  promises.  There 
were  passages  that  never  recurred  to  me  except  with  the 
sound  of  my  father's  vibrating  voice,  jjeiietrating  their 
words  with  a  never  dying  power.  The  Bible  was  to  me 
like  a  father  and  a  mother,  and  the  doubts,  and  queries, 
the  respectful  suggestions  of  incredulity,  the  mildly  sug- 
gestive abatements  of  its  authority,  which  met  me,  now  here 
and  now  there,  in  all  the  course  of  my  readings  and  studies, 
were  as  painful  to  me  as  reflections  cast  on  my  father's 
probity  or  my  mother's  honor. 

I  would  not  listen  to  them,  I  would  not  give  them 
voice,  I  smothered  them  in  the  deepest  recesses'  of  my 
heart,  while  meantime  the  daily  pressure  that  came  on  me 
in  the  studies  and  requirements  of  college  life  left  me 


82  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

neither  leisure  nor  inclination  to  pursue  the  researches  that 
should  clear  them  up. 

To  be  sure,  nothing  is  so  important  as  the  soul — nothing- is 
of  so  much  moment  as  religion,  and  the  question  "  Is  this 
God's  book  or  is  it  not?"  is  the  question  of  questions.  It 
underlies  all  things,  and  he  who  is  wise  would  drop  all  other 
things  and  undergo  any  toil  and  make  any  studies  that  should 
fit  him  to  judge  understandiugly  on  this  point.  But  I  speak 
from  experience  when  I  say  that  the  course  of  study  in 
Christian  America  is  so  arranged  that  a  boy,  from  the  gram- 
mar school  upward  till  he  graduates,  is  so  fully  pressed  and 
overladen  with  all  other  studies  that  there  is  no  probability 
that  he  will  find  the  time  or  the  inclination  for  such  inves- 
tigation. 

In  most  cases  he  will  do  just  what  I  did,  throw  himself 
upon  the  studies  proposed  to  him,  work  enough  to  meet 
the  demands  of  the  hour,  and  put  off  the  acquisition  of  that 
more  important  knowledge  to  an  indefinite  future,  and  sigh, 
and  go  backward  in  his  faith. 

But  without  faith  or  with  a  faith  trembling  and  uncertain, 
how  is  a  man  to  turn  his  back  on  the  world  that  is  before 
him — the  world  that  he  can  see,  hear,  touch  and  taste — to 
work  for  the  world  that  is  unseen  and  eternal  ? 

I  will  not  repeat  the  flattering  words  that  often  fell  on  my 
ear  and  said  to  me.  "  You  can  make  your  way  anywhere  ; 
you  can  be  anything  you  please."  And  then  there  were 
voices  that  said  in  my  heart,  "  I  may  have  wealth,  and  with  it 
means  of  power,  of  culture,  of  taste,  of  luxury.  If  I  only  set 
out  for  that,  I  may  get  it."  And  then,  in  contrast,  came  that 
life  I  had  seen  my  father  live,  in  its  grand  simplicity,  in 
its  enthusiastic  sincerity,  in  its  exulting  sense  of  joy  in  what 
he  was  doing,  down  to  the  last  mortal  moment,  and  I  wish- 
ed, oh,  how  fervently !  that  I  could  believe  as  he  did.  But 
to  be  a  minister  merely  from  a  sense  of  duty — to  bear  the 
burden  of  poverty  with  no  perception  of  the  unspeakable 
riches  which  Christ  hath  placed  therein — who  would  not 
shrink  from  a  life  so  grating  and  so  cold  ?  To  choose  the 


THE  BLUE  MISTS.  83 

ministry  as  a  pedestal  for  oratory  and  self-display  and  poetic 
religious  sentiment,  and  thus  to  attain  distinction  and  easy 
position,  and  the  command  of  fashionable  luxury,  seemed 
to  me  a  temptation  to  desecration  still  more  terrible,  and 
I  dreaded  the  hour  which  should  close  iny  college  life  and 
make  a  decision  inevitable. 

It  was  with  a  sober  and  sad  heart  that  I  closed  my  college' 
course  and  parted  from  cla  s-mates— jolly  fellows  with 
whom  had  rolled  away  the  four  best  years  of  my  life — years' 
that  as  one  goes  on  afterwards  in  age  look  brighter  and 
brighter  in  the  distance.  It  was  a  lonesome  and  pokerish 
operation  to  dismantle  the  room  that  had  long  been  my 
home,  to  bargain  away  my  furniture,  pack  my  books, 
and  bid  &  final  farewell  to  all  the  old  quiddities  and  oddi- 
ties that  I  had  grown  attached  to  in  the  quaint  little  vil- 
lage. The  parting  from  Alma  Mater  is  a  second  leaving  of 
home — and  this  time  for  the  great  world.  There  is  no  stav- 
ing off  the  battle  of  life  now — the  tents  are  struck,  the 
camp-fires  put  out,  and  one  must  be  on  the  march. 


84  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 


CHAPTER     IX. 

AN  OUTLOOK    INTO    LIFE. 

coming  back  to  my  native  town  was  an  event  of 
public  notoriety.  I  bad  won  laurels,  and  as  T  was 
the  village  property,  my  laurels  were  duly  com- 
mented on  and  properly  appreciated.  Highland  was  one  of 
those  thrifty  Yankee  settlements  where  every  house  seems  to 
speak  the  people  ro  well-to-do,  and  so  careiul,  and  progress- 
ive in  all  the  means  of  material  comfort.  There  was  not  a 
house  in  it  that  was  not  in  a  sort  of  healthy,  growing  state, 
receiving,  from  time  to  time,  some  accession  that  showed 
that  the  Yankee  aspiration  was  busy,  stretching  and  en- 
larging. This  had  a  new  bay-window,  and  that  had  a  new 
veranda;  the  other,  new,  tight,  white  picket  fences  all  round 
the  yard.  Others  rejoiced  in  a  fresh  coat  of  paint.  But  all 
were  alive,  and  apparently  self -repairing.  There  was  to 
every  house  the  thrifty  wood-pile,  seasoning  for  winter; 
the  clean  garden,  with  its  wealth  of  fruit  and  its  gay  bor- 
ders of  flowers ;  and  every  new  kind  of  flower,  and  every 
choice  new  fruit,  found  somewhere  a  patron  who  was  trying 
a  hand  at  it. 

Highland  was  a  place  worth  living  in  just  for  its  scenery. 
It  was  at  that  precise  point  of  the  country  where  the  hills 
are  inspiriting,  vivacious,  reminding  one  of  the  Psalm, — 
"The  little  hills  rejoice  on  every  side!"  Mountains  are 
grand,  but  they  also  are  dreary.  For  a  near  prospect  they 
overpower  too  much,  they  shut  out  the  sun,  they  have  sav- 
age propensities,  untamable  by  man,  shown  once  in  a  while 
in  land-slides  and  freshets;  but  these  half -grown  hills  uplift 
one  like  waves  of  the  sea.  In  summer  they  are  wonderful 


AN  OUTLOOK  INTO  LIFE.  85 

iu  all  possible  shades  of  greenness;  in  autumn  they  are  like 
a  mystical  rainbow— an  ocean  of  waves,  flamboyant  with 
every  wonderful  device  of  color;  and  even  when  the  leaves 
are  gone,  in  November,  and  nothing  left  but  the  bristling 
steel-blue  outlines  of  trees,  there  is  a  wonderful  purple 
haze,  a  veil  of  dreamy  softness,  around  them,  that  makes 
you  think  you  never  saw  them  so  beautiful. 

So  I  said  to  myself,  as  I  came  rambling  over  hill  and  dale 
back  to  the  old  homestead,  and  met  my  mother's  bright 
lace  of  welcome  at  the  door.  I  was  the  hero  of  the  hour 
at  home,  and  everything  had  been  prepared  to  make  me 
welcome.  My  brother,  who  kept  the  homestead,  had  relin- 
quished the  prospect  of  a  college  life,  and  devoted  himself 
to  farming,  but  looked  on  me  as  the  most  favored  of  mor- 
tals in  the  attainments  I  had  made.  His  young  wife  and 
growing  family  of  children  clustered  around  my  mother 
and  leaned  on  her  experience ;  and  as  every  one  in  the  little 
village  know  and  loved  her,  there  was  a  general  felicitation 
and  congratulation  on  the  event  of  my  return  and  my 
honors. 

"  See  him  in  his  father's  pulpit  afore  long,"  said  Deacon 
Manning,  who  called  the  first  evening  to  pay  his  respects ; 
"  better  try  his  hand  at  the  weekly  prayer  meeting,  and  stir 
us  up  a  bit." 

"  I  think,  Deacon,"  said  I,  "  I  shall  have  to  be  one  of 
those  that  learn  in  silence,  awhile  longer.  I  may  come  to 
be  taught,  but  I  certainly  cannot  teach." 

"  Well,  now,  that's  modest  for  a  young  fellow  that's  just 
been  through  college !  They  commonly  are  as  feathery  and 
highflying  as  a  this  year's  rooster,  and  ready  to  crow 
whether  their  voice  breaks  or  not,"  said  the  deacon. 
'  Learn  in  silence !'  Well,  that  'ere  beats  all  for  a  young 
man!" 

1  thought  to  myself  that  the  good  deacon  little  knew  the 
lack  of  faith  that  was  covered  by  my  humility. 

Since  my  father's  death,  my  mother  had  made  her  home 
with  iny  Uucle  Jacob.  Her  health  was  delicate,  and  she 


86  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

preferred  to  enjoy  the  honors  of  a  grandmother  at  a  little 
distance.  My  Uncle  Jacob  had  no  children.  Aunt  Polly, 
his  wife,  *vas  just  the  softest,  sleekest,  most  domestic  dove 
of  a  woman  whose  wings  were  ever  covered  with  silve".  I 
always  think  of  her  in  some  soft,  pearly  ?ilk,  with  a  filmy 
cap,  and  a  half-handkerchief  crossed  over  a  gentle,  mother- 
ly bosom,  soft  moving,  soft  speaking,  but  wi"h  a  pair  of 
bright,  hazel  eyes,  keen  as  .arrows  to  seno.  their  glances  into 
every  place  in  her  dominions.  Let  anybody  try  sending  in 
a  false  account  to  A  an  fc  Polly,  and  they  will  see  that  the 
brightness  of  her  eyes  was  not  merely  for  ornament.  Yet 
everything  she  put  her  hand  to  went  so  exactly,  so  easily, 
you  would  have  sai.J  those  eyes  were  made  for  nothing  but 
reading,  for  which  Aunt  Polly  hnd  a  great  taste,  and  for 
which  she  found  abundance  of  leisure. 

My  mother  and  she  were  enjoying  together  a  long  and 
quiet  Saturday  afternoon  of  life,  reading  to  each  other,  and 
quietly  and  leisurely  discussing  all  that  they  read, — not 
merely  the  last  novel,  as  the  fashion  of  women  in  towns 
and  cities  is  apt  to  be,  but  all  the  solid  works  of  philosophy 
and  literature  that  marked  the  times.  My  uncle's  house  was 
like  a  bookseller's  stall,— it  was  overrunning  with  books. 
The  cases  covered  the  walls;  they  crowded  the  corners 
and  angles ;  and  still  every  noteworthy  book  was  ordered, 
to  swell  the  stock. 

My  mother  and  aunt  had  read  together  Lecky,  and 
Buckle,  and  Herbert  Spencer,  with  the  keen  critical  in- 
terest of  fresh  minds.  Had  it  troubled  their  faith  ?  I\ot 
in  the  least ;  no  more  than  it  would  that  of  Mary  on  the 
morning  after  the  resurrection  !  There  is  a  certain  moral 
altitude  where  faith  becomes  knowledge,  and  the  bat- 
wings  of  doubt  cannot  fly  so  high.  My  mother  was 
dwelling  in  that  land  of-  Beulah,  where  the  sun  always 
shineth,  and  the  bells  of  the  heavenly  city  are  heard,  and 
the  shining  ones  walk.  All  was  clear  to  her,  all  bright, 
all  real,  in  "the  beyond;"  but  that  kind  of  evidence 


AN  OUTLOOK  INTO  LIFE.  87 

is  above  the  realm  of  heavy-footed  reason.  The  "joy  un- 
speakable," the  "peace  that  passeth  understanding,"  are 
things  that  cannot  be  passed  from  hand  to  hand.  Else  I 
am  quite  sure  my  mother  would  have  taken  the  crown  of 
joy  from  her  head  and  the  peace  from  her  bosom,  and 
given  them  to  me.  But  the  "white  stone  with  the  new 
name"  is  Christ's  gift  to  each  for  himself,  and  "no  man 
knoweth  it  save  he  that  receiveth  it." 

But  these  witnesses  who  stand  gazing  into  heaven  are 
not  without  their  power  on  us  who  stand  lower.  It  steadied 
my  moral  nerves,  so  to  speak,  that  my  mother  had  read 
and  weighed  tbe  words  that  were  making  so  much  doubt 
and  shaking;  that  she  fully  comprehended  them,  and  that 
she  smiled  without  fear. 

She  listened  without  distress,  without  anxiety,  to  all  my 
doubts  and  falterings.  "  You  must  pass  through  this ;  you 
will  be  led ;  it  will  all  come  right,"  she  said ;  "  and  then 
perhaps  you  will  be  the  guide  of  others." 

I  had  feared  to  tell  her  that  I  had  abandoned  the  purpose 
of  the  ministry,  but  I  found  it  easy. 

"  I  would  not  have  you  embrace  the  ministry  for  anything 
but  a  true  love,"  she  said,  "  any  more  than  I  would  that 
you  should  marry  a  wife  for  any  other  reason.  If  ever 
the  time  comes  that  you  feel  you  must  be  that,  it  will  be 
your  call ;  but  you  can  be  God's  minister  otherwise  than 
through  the  pulpit." 

"  Talk  over  your  plans  with  your  uncle,"  she  said  ;  "  he 
is  in  your  father's  place  now." 

In  fact,  my  uncle,  having  no  children  of  his  own,  had 
set  his  heart  on  me,  and  was  disposed  to  make  me  heir,  not 
only  to  his  very  modest  personal  estate,  but  also  to  his 
harvest  of  ideas  and  opinions, — all  that  backwater  of 
thoughts  and  ideas  that  accumulate  on  the  mind  of  a  man 
who  thinks  and  reads  a  great  deal  in  a  lonely  neighbor- 
hood. So  he  took  me  up  as  a  companion  in  his  daily  rides 
over  the  country. 

"  Well,  Harry,  where  next  t"  hs  said  to  me  the  day  after 


88  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

my  return,  as  we  were  driving  together.  "What  are  you 
about  ?  Going  to  try  the  ministry?" 

"  I  dare  not ;  I  am  not  fit.  I  know  father  wanted  it,  and 
prayed  for  it,  and  nothing  would  be  such  a  joy  to  mother, 
but " 

My  uncle  gave  a  shrewd,  sidelong  glance  on  me. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  like  a  good  many  fellows ;  an  educa- 
tion gives  them  a  general  shaking  up,  and  all  their  beliefs 
break  from  their  lashings  and  go  rolling  and  tumbling 
about  like  epars  and  oil-casks  in  a  storm  on  ship-board." 

"  1  can't  say  that  is  true  of  all  my  beliefs ;  but  yet  a  great 
many  things  that  I  tried  to  regard  as  certain  are  untied.  I 
have  too  many  doubts  for  a  teacher." 

"Who  hasn't?  I  don't  know  anything  in  heaven  or 
earth  that  forty  unanswerable  questions  can't  be  asked 
about." 

"  You  know,"  answered  I,  "  Tennyson  says, 

'  There  lives  more  faith  in  honest  doubt, 
Believe  me,  than  in  half  the  creeds.'  " 

"  H'm !  that  depends.  Doubt  is  very  well  as  a  sort  of 
constitutional  crisis  in  the  beginning  of  one's  life ;  but  if 
it  runs  on  and  gets  to  be  chronic,  it  breaks  a  fellow  up,  and 
makes  him  morally  "spindling  and  sickly.  Men  that  do  any- 
thing in  the  world  must  be  men  of  strong  convictions  j  it 
won't  do  to  go  through  life  like  a  hen,  era,  w-cra  wing  and 
lifting  up  one  foot,  and  not  knowing  where  to  set  it  down 
next." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "while  I  am  passing  through  the  constitu- 
tional crisis,  as  you  call  it,  is  the  very  time  I  must  make  up 
my  mind  to  teach  others  oil  the  most  awful  of  all  subjects. 
I  cannot  and  dare  not.  I  must  be  a  learner  for  some  years 
to  comc3,  and  I  must  be  a  learner  without  any  pledges, 
expressed  or  implied,  to  find  the  truth  this  way  or  that." 

**  Well,"  said  my  uncle  ;  "  I'm  not  so  greatly  concerned 
about  that— the  Lord  needs  other  ministers  besides  those  in 
the  pulpit.  Why,  man,  the  sermons  on  the  evidences  of 
Christianity  that  have  come  home  to  me  most  have  been 


AN  OUTLOOK  INTO  LIFE.  89 

preached  by  l.iy  preachers  in  poor  houses  and  lonely 
churches,  by  ignorant  men  and  women,  and  little  children." 
14  There's  old  Aunt  Sarah  there,"  he  said,  pointing  with  his 
whip  to  a  brown  house  in  the  distance,  "that  woman  is 
dying  of  a  cancer,  that  slowly  eats  away  her  life  in  lingering 
agony,  and  all  her  dependence  is  the  work  of  a  sickly, 
consumptive  daughter,  and  yet  she  is  more  than  resigned  to 
her  lot,  she  is  so  cheerful,  so  thankful,  so  hopeful,  there  is 
such  a  blessed  calm  peace,  ar.d  rest,  and  sweetness  in  that 
house,  that  I  love  to  go  there.  The  influence  of  that 
woman  is  felt  all  through  the  village — she  preaches  to  some 
purpose." 

"  Because  she  knows  what  she  believes,"  I  said. 

"It  was  the  same  with  your  father,  Harry.  Now  my 
boy,"  he  added,  turning  to  me  with  the  old  controversial 
twinkle  in  Ids  eye,  and  speaking  in  a  confidential  tone — 
"  The  fact  is,  I  never  agreed  with  your  father  doctrinally, 
there  were  weak  spots  in  his  system  all  along,  and  I  always 
told  him  so.  I  could  trip  him  and  floor  him  in  an  argument, 
tiiid  have  done  it  a  hundred  times,"  he  said,  giving  a  touch 
to  his  horse. 

I  thought  to  myself  that  it  was  well  enough  that  my 
father  wasn't  there  to  hear  that  statement,  otherwise  there 
would  have  been  an  immediate  tilting  match,  and  the 
"whole  ground  to  be  gone  over. 

"  Yes,1'  lie  said ;  "  it  wasn't  mainly  in  your  father's 
theology  that  his  strength  lay — it  was  the  Christ  in  him — 
the  great  warm  heart— his  crystal  purity  and  simplicity — 
his  unworldly  earnestness  and  honesty.  He  was  a  godly 
man  and  a  manly  man  both,  and  he  sowed  seed  all  over 
this  State  that  came  up  good  men  and  good  women.  Yes, 
there  arc  hundreds  and  hundreds  in  this  State  to-day  that 
ure  good  men  and  good  women,  mainly  because  he  lived. 
That's  what  I  call  success  in  liTe,  Harry,  when  a  man  carries 
himself  so  that  he  turns  into  seed-corn  and  makes  a  harvest 
of  good  people.  You  may  upset  a  man's  reasonings,  and 
his  theology  may  go  to  the  dogs,  but  a  brave  Christian 


90  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

life  you  can't  upset,  it  "will  tell.  Now,  Harry,  are  you  going 
to  try  for  that  f 

"  God  helping  me,  I  will,"  I  said. 

"  You  see,  as  to  the  theologies,"  he  added,  "  I  think  it  has 
been  well  said  that  the  Christian  world  just  now  is  like 
a  ship  that's  tacking,  it  has  lost  the  wind  on  one  side  and 
not  quite  got  it  on  the  other.  The  growth  of  society,  the 
development  of  new  physical  laws,  and  this  modern  scien- 
tific rush  of  the  human  mind  is  going  to  modify  the  man- 
made  theologies  and  creeds;  some  of  them  will  drop  away 
just  as  the  blossom  does  when  the  fruit  forms,  but  Christ's 
religion  will  be  just  the  same  as  ever — his  words  will  not 
pass  away." 

"  But  then,"  I  said  "  there  are  a  whole  labyrinth  of  per- 
plexing questions  about  this  Bible.  What  is  inspiration  1 
What  ground  dees  it  cover  ?  How  much  of  all  these  books 
is  inspired  ?  What  is  their  history  ?  How  came  we  by  them  "? 
What  evidence  have  we  that  the  record  gives  us  Christ's 
words  uncorrupted  f 

"If  you  had  been  brought  up  in  Justin  Martyr's  time  or 
the  days  of  the  primitive  Christians  you  would  have  been 
put  to  study  all  these  things  first  and  foremost  i:i  your 
education,  but  we  modern  Christians,  teach  young  men 
everything  else  except  what  we  profess  to  think  the  most 
important ;  and  so  you  come  out  of  college  ignorant,  just 
where  knowledge  is  most  vital." 

"  Well,  that  is  past  praying  for  now,"  said  I. 

"  Yes ;  but  even  now  there  is  a  way  out— just  as  going 
through  a  bog  you  plant  your  foot  hard  on  what  land  there 
is,  and  then  take  your  bearings— so  you  must  do  here.  The 
way  to  get  rid  of  doubts  in  religion,  is  to  go  to  work  with  all 
our  might  and  practice  what  we  don't  doubt,  and  that  you 
can  do  whatever  your  calling  or  profession." 

"  I  shall  certainly  try/'  said  I. 

"  For  example,"  said  my  uncle,  "  There's  the  Sermon  on 
the  Mount.  Nobody  has  any  doubt  about  that,  there  it  lies 
—plain  enough,  and  enough  of  it — not  a  bit  of  what's  called 


AN  OUTLOOK  INTO  LIFE.  91 

theology  in  it.  Not  a  word  of  information  to  settle  the 
mooted  questions  men  wrangle  over,  but  with  a  direct  an- 
swer to  just  the  questions  a::y  thoughtful  man  must  want 
to  have  answered  when  he  looks  at  life.  Is  there  a  Father 
in  the  heavens?  Will  he  help  us  if  we  ask?  May  the 
troubles  of  life  be  our  discipline?  Is  there  a  better  life 
beyond?  And  how  are  we  to  get  that?  There  is  Christ's 
philosophy  of  life  in  that  sermon,  and  Christ's  mode  of  deal 
ing  with  actual  existing  society  ;  and  he  who  undertakes 
in  good  faith  to  square  his  heart  and  life  by  it  will  have  his 
hands  full.  The  world  has  been  traveling  eighteen  hundred 
years  and  not  come  fully,  into  the  light  of  its  meaning. 
There  has  never  been  a  Christian  state  or  a  Christian 
nation,  according  to  that.  That  document  is  in  modern 
society  just  like  a  lump  of  soda  in  a  tumbler  of  vinegar, 
it  keeps  up  a  constant  commotion,  and  will  do  so  till  cveiy 
particle  of  life  is  adjusted  on  its  principles.  The  man  who 
works  out  Christ's  teachings  into  a  palpable  life-form, 
preaches  Christianity,  no  matter  what  his  trade  or  calling, 
lie  may  be  a  coal  heaver  or  he  may  be  a  merchant,  or  a 
lawyer,  or  an  editor— he  preaches  all  the  same.  Men  always 
know  it  when  they  meet  a  bit  of  Christ's  sermons  walking 
out  bodily  in  good  deeds ;  they're  not  like  worldly  wisdom, 
and  have  a  smack  of  something  a  good  deal  higher  than 
common  sense,  but  when  people  see  it  they  say,  "Yes — 
that's  the  true  thing."  Now  one  of  our  Presidents,  General 
Harrison,  found  out  on  a  certain  day  that  through  a  flaw  in 
the  title  deeds  he  was  owner  to  half  the  city  of  Cincinnati. 
What  does  he  do  ?  Why,  simply  he  says  to  himself,  '  These 
people  have  paid  their  money  in  good  faith,  and  I'll  do  by 
them  as  I'd  be  done  by,'  and  he  goes  to  a  lawyer  and  has 
fresh  deeds  drawn  out  for  the  whole  of  'em,  and  lived  and 
died  a  poor,  honest  man.  That  action  was  a  preaching  of 
Christ's  doctrine  as  I  take  it,  and  if  you'll  do  as  much 
whenever  you  get  a  chance,  its  no  matter  what  calling  you 
take  for  a  pulpit.  So  now  tell  me  what  are  you  thinking  of 
setting  yourself  about  ?" 


92  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

"I  intend  to  clcvot 3  myself  to  literature,"  said  I.  "I 
always  had  a  facility  for  writing,  while  I  never  felt  the  call 
or  impulse  toward  public  speaking;  and  I  think  the  f.cld  of 
current  literature  opens  a  Avide  scope.  I  have  had  already 
some  success  in  having  articles  accepted  and  well  spoken 
of,  and  have  now  some  promising  offers.  I  have  an  opportu- 
nity to  travel  in  Europe  as  correspondent  of  two  papers,  and 
I  shall  study  to  improve  myself.  In  time  I  may  become  an 
editor,  and  then  perhaps  at  last  proprietor  of  a  paper.  So 
runs  my  scheme  of  life,  and  I  hope  I  shall  be  true  to  myself 
and  my  religion  in  it.  I  shall  certainly  try  to.  Current 
literature — the  literature  of  newspapers  and  magazines,  is 
certainly  a  power." 

"A  very  great  power,  Harry,"  said  my  uncle ;  "  and  getting 
to  be  in  our  day  a  tremendous  power,  a  power  far  outgoing 
that  of  the  pulpit,  and  that  of  books.  This  constant  daily 
self-asserting  literature  of  newspapers  and  periodicals  is  act- 
ing on  us  tremendously  for  good  or  for  ill.  It  has  access  to 
us  at  all  hours  and  gets  itself  heard  as  a  preacher  cannot, 
and  gets  itself  read  as  scarcely  any  book  docs.  It  ought  to 
be  entered  into  as  solemnly  as  the  pulpit,  for  it  is  using  a 
great  power.  Yet  just  now  it  is  power  without  responsi- 
bility. It  is  in  the  hands  of  men  who  come  under  no  pledge, 
pass  no  examination,  give  no  vouchers,  though  they  hold  a 
power  more  than  that  of  all  other  professions  or  books 
united.  One  cannot  be  a  doctor,  or  a  lawyer,  or  a  minister, 
unless  some  body  of  his  fellows  looks  into  Lis  fitness  to 
serve  society  in  these  ways ;  but  one  may  be  turned  loose  to 
talk  in  every  family  twice  a  day,  on  every  subject,  sacred 
and  profane,  and  say  anything  he  chooses  without  even  the 
safeguard  of  a  personal  responsibility.  lie  shall  speak  from 
behind  a  screen  and  not  be  known.  Now  you  know  old 
Dante  says  that  the  souls  in  the  other  world  were  divided 
into  three  classes,  those  who  were  for  God  and  those  who 
were  for  the  Devil,  and  those  who  were  for  neither,  but  for 
themselves.  It  seems  to  me  that  there's  a  vast  many  of 
these  latter  at  work  in  our  press — smart  literary  advcntur- 


AN  OUTLOOK  INTO  LIFE.  93 

ers,  who  don't  care  a  copper  what  they  write  up  or  what 
they  write  down,  wholly  indifferent  which  side  of  a  question 
they  sustain,  so  they  do  it  smartly,  and  ready  to  sell  their 
wit,  their  genius  and  their  rhetoric  to  the  highest  bidder. 
Now,  Harry,  I'd  rather  sec  you  a  poor,  threadbare,  hard- 
worked,  country  minister  than  the  smartest  and  brightest 
fellow  that  ever  kept  his  talents  on  sale  in  Vanity  Fair." 

"Well,"  said  I,  "isn't  it  just  here  that  your  principle  of 
living  out  a  Gospel  should  come  ?  Must  there  not  be  writers 
for  the  press  who  believe  in  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount,  and 
who  are  pledged  to  get  its  principles  into  life-forms  as  fast 
as  they  can  V ' 

"  Yea,  verily,"  said  my  uncle  ;  "  but  do  you  mean  to  keep 
faithful  to  that  1  You  have,  say,  a  good  knack  at  English ; 
you  can  write  stories,  and  poems,  and  essays ;  you  have  a 
turn  for  humor ;  and  now  comes  the  Devil  to  you  and  says, 
'  Show  me  up  the  weak  points  of  those  reformers ;  raise  a 
laugh  at  those  temperance  men, — those  religionists,  who, 
like  all  us  poor  human  trash,  are  running  religion,  and 
morals,  and  progress  into  the  ground.'  You  can  succeed ; 
you  can  carry  your  world  with  you.  You  see,  if  Virtue 
canie  .straight  down  from  Heaven  with  her  white  wings  and 
glistening  robes,  and  always  conducted  herself  just  like  an 
angel,  our  trial  in  life  wouldn't  be  so  great  as  it  is.  But 
she  doesn't.  Hum  an  virtue  is  more  apt  to  appear  like  a 
bewildered,  unprotected  female,  encumbered  with  all  sorts 
of  irregular  bandboxes,  dusty,  disheveled,  out  of  fashion, 
and  elbowing  her  way  with  ungainly  haste  and  ungraceful 
postures.  You  know  there  are  stories  of  powerful  fairies 
who  have  appealed  in  this  way  among  men,  to  try  their 
hearts ;  and  those  who  protect  them  when  they  are  feeble 
and  dishonored,  they  reward  when  they  are  glorious.  Now, 
your  smart,  flippant,  second-rate  wits  never  have  the  grace 
to  honor  Truth  when  she  loses  her  way,  and  gets  bewildered 
and  dusty,  and  they  drive  a  flourishing  business  in  laughing 
down  the  world's  poor  efforts.to  grow  better." 

"  I  think,''  said  I,  "  that  we  Americans  have  one  brilliant 


94  MY  WIFE  AND  1. 

example  of  a  man  who  liad  keen  humor,  and  used  it  on  the 
Christian  side.  The  animus  of  the  "  Billow  Papers  "  is  the 
spirit  of  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  translated  into  the  lan- 
guage of  Yankee  life,  and  defended  with  wit  and  drollery." 
"lou  say  truth,  Harry,  and  it  was  no  small  thing  to 
do  it;  for  the  Anti-Slavery  cause  then  was  just  in  that 
chaotic  state  in  which  every  strange  bird  and  beast,  every 
shaggy,  irregular,  unkempt  reformer,  male  and  female, 
were  flocking  to  it,  and  there  was  capital  scope  for  car- 
icature and  ridicule ;  and  all  tlie  fastidious,  and  conserva- 
tive, and  soft-handed,  and  even-stepping  people  were 
measureless  in  their  contempt  for  this  shocking  rabble. 
Lowell  stood  between  them  and  the  world,  and  fought  the 
battle  with  weapons  that  the  world  could  understand. 
There  was  a  Gospel  truth  in 

'  John  P.  Robinson,  he,' 

and  it  did  what  no  sermon  could  ;  this  is  the  more  remark- 
able because  he  used  for  the  purpose  a  harlequin  faculty, 
that  has  so  often  been  read  out  of  meeting  and  excommuni- 
cated that  the  world  had  come  to  look  at  it  as  ex-officio 
of  the  Devil.  "VVhittier  and  Longfellow  made  valiant  music 
ol  the  solemn  sort,  but  Lowell  evangelized  wit." 

''The  fortunate  man,"  said  I,  "to  have  used  a  great 
opportunity  ! " 

"  Harry,  the  only  way  to  be  a  real  man,  is  to  have  a  cause 
you  care  for  more  than  yourself.  That  made  your  father — 
that  made  your  New  England  Fathers-  that  raises  literature 
above  some  child  s  play,  and  makes  it  manly— but  if  you 
would  do  ii  you  must  count  on  one  thing — that  the  devil 
will  tempt  you  in  the  outset  with  the  bread  question  as  he 
did  the  Lord. 

"  Command  that  these  stones  be  made  bread ;" 

is  the  first  onset— you'll  want  money,  and  money  will  be 
offered  for  what  you  ought  not  to  write.  There's  the  sensa- 
tional novel,  the  blood  aurt  murder  and  adultery  story,  of 
which  modern  literature  is  full— you  can  produce  it— do  it 


AN  OUTLOOK  INTO  LIFE.  95 

perhaps  as  well  as  anybody — it  Avill  sell.  Will  you  be  bar- 
keeper to  the  public,  and  when  the  public  call  for  hot 
brandy  sling  give  it  to  them,  and  help  them  make  brutes  of 
themselves  ?  Will  you  help  to  vulgarize  and  demoralize 
literature  if  it  will  pay  ?" 

"  No;"  said  I,  "not if  I  know  myself." 

"Then  you've  got  to  begin  life  with  some  motive  higher 
than  to  make  money,  or  get  a  living,  and  you'll  have  some- 
times to  choose  between  poisonous  nonsense  that  brings  pay, 
and  honest  truth  that  nobody  wants." 

"  And  I  must  tell  the  Devil  that  there  is  a  higher  life  than 
the  bread-life  f '  said  I. 

"Yes;  get  above  that,  to  begin  with.  Remember  the 
story  of  General  Marion,  who  invited  some  British  officers  to 
dine  with  him  and  gave  them  nothing  but  roasted  potatoes. 
They  went  away  and  said  it  was  in  vain  to  try  to  conquer  a 
people  when  their  officers  would  live  on  such  fare  rather 
than  give  up  the  cause.  Do  you  know,  Harry,  what  is 
my  greatest  hope  for  this  State  ?  It's  this :  Two  or  three 
years  ago  there  was  urgent  need  to  carry  this  State  in  an 
election,  and  there  was  no  end  of  hard  money  sent  up  to  buy 
votes  among  our  poor  farmers:  but  they  couldn't  be  bought. 
They  had  learned,  '  Man  shall  not  live  by  bread  alone,'  to 
some  purpose.  The  State  went  all  straight  for  liberty. 
What  I  ask  of  any  man  who  wants  to  do  a  life-work  is  ability 
to  be  happy  on  a  little." 

"Well,"  said  I,  "  I  have  been  brought  up  to  that.  I  have 
no  expensive  habits.  I  neither  drink  nor  smoke.  I  am 
used  to  thinking  definitely  as  to  figures,  and  I  am  willing  to 
work  hard,  and  begin  at  the  bottom  of  the  ladder,  but  I 
mean  to  keep  my  conscience  and  my  religion,  and  lend  a 
helping  hand  to  the  good  cause  wherever  I  can.'' 

"  Well,  now,  my  boy,  there're  only  two  aids  that  you  need 
for  this — one  is  God,  and  the  other  is  a  true,  good  woman. 
God  you  will  have,  but  the  woman — she  must  be  found." 

"  I  felt  the  touch  on  a  sore  spot,  and  so  answered,  purposely 


96  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

misunderstanding  his  meaning.  "Yes,  I  have  not  to  go  far 
for  her — my  mother." 

"  Oh  yes,  my  boy — thank  God  for  her ;  but  Harry,  you  can't 
take  her  away  from  this  place ;  her  roots  have  spread  here  ; 
they  are  matted  and  twined  with  the  very  soil;  they  run 
under  every  homestead  and  embrace  every  grave.  She  is 
so  interwoven  with  this  village  that  she  could  not  take 
root  elsewhere,  beside  that,  Harry,  look  at  the  clock  of 
life — count  the  years,  sixty-five,  sixty-six,  sixty-seven,  and 
the  clock  never  stops !  Her  hair  is  all  white  now,  and  that 
snow  will  melt  by  and  by,  and  she  will  be  gone  upward. 
God  grant  I  may  go  first,  Harry." 

"  And  I,  too,"  said  I,  fervently.  "  I  could  not  live  without 
her." 

"  You  must  find  one  like  her,  Harry.  It  is  not  good  for 
man  to  be  alone;  we  all  need  the  motherly,  and  we  must  find 
it  in  a  wife.  Do  you  know  what  I  think  the  prettiest  story 
of  courtship  I  ever  read  ?  Its  the  account  of  Jacob's  mar- 
riage with  Rebecca,  away  back  in  the  simple  old  times.  You 
remember  the  ending  of  it, — "  And  Isaac  brought  her  into 
her  mother  Sarah's  tent,  and  took  Rebecca  and  she  became 
his  wife,  and  Isaac  was  comforted  for  his  mother's  death.' 
There's  the  philosophy  of  it,"  he  added;  "it's  the  mother 
living  again  in  the  wife.  The  motherly  instinct  is  in  the 
hearts  of  all  true  women,  and  sooner  or  later  the  true  wife 
becomes  a  mother  to  her  husband ;  she  guides  him,  cares 
for  him,  teaches  him,  and  catechises  him  all  in  the  nicest 
way  possible,  Why  I'm  sure  I  never  should  know  how  to 
get  along  a  day  without  Polly  to  teach  me  the  requirings 
and  forbidden s  of  the  commandments;  to  lecture  me  for 
going  out  without  my  muffler,  and  see  that  I  put  on  my 
flannels  in  the  right  time ;  to  insist  that  I  shall  take  some- 
thing for  my  cough,  and  raise  a  rebellion  to  my  going  out 
when  there's  a  north  easter.  So  much  for  the  body,  and  as 
for  the  soul-life,  I  believe  it  is  woman  who  holds  faith  in 
the  world— it  is  woman  behind  the  wall,  casting  oil  on  the 
fire  that  burns  brighter  and  brighter,  while  the  Devil  pours 


AN  OUTLOOK  INTO  LIFE.  97 

on  water ;  and  you'll  never  get  Christianity  out  of  the  earth 
while  there's  a  woman  in  it.  I'd  rather  have  my  wife's  and 
your  mother's  opinion  on  the  meaning  of  a  text  of  Scripture 
than  all  the  doctors  of  divinity,  and  their  faith  is  an  anchor 
that  always  holds.  Some  jackanapes  or  other  I  read  once, 
said  every  woman  wanted  a  master,  and  was  as  forlorn 
without  a  husband  as  a  masterless  dog.  Its  a  great  deal 
truer  that  every  man  wants  a  mother;  men  are  more  forlorn 
than  masterless  dogs,  a  great  deal,  when  no  woman  cares 
for  them.  Look  at  the  homes  single  women  make  for 
themselves;  how  neat,  how  cosy,  how  bright  with  the  oil 
of  gladness,  and  then  look  at  old  bachelor  dens !  The  fact 
is,  women  are  born  comfort-makers,  and  can  get  along  by 
themselves  a  great  deal  better  than  we  can." 

•'  Well,''  said  I,  "  I  don't  think  I  shall  ever  marry.  Of 
course  if  I  could  find  a  woman  like  my  mother,  it  would  be 
another  thing.  But  times  arc  altered — the  women  of  this 
day  are  all  for  flash  and  ambition,  and  money.  There  are 
no  more  such  as  you  used  to  find  in  the  old  days." 

"  Oh,  nonsense,  Harry ;  don't  come  to  me  with  that  sort 
of  talk.  Bad  sort  for  a  young  man — very.  What  I  want  to 
see  in  a  3roung  fellow  is  a  resolution  to  have  a  good  wife 
and  a  home  of  his  own  as  quick  as  he  can  find  it.  The 
Konian  Catholics  weren't  so  far  out  of  the  way  when  they 
said  marriage  was  a  sacrament.  It  is  the  greatest  sacra- 
ment of  life,  and  that  old  church  does  yeoman  service  to 
humanity  in  the  stand  she  takes  for  Chiistian  marriage.  I 
should  call  that  the  most  prosperous  state  when  all  the 
young  men  and  women  were  well  mated  and  helping  one 
another  according  to  God's  ordinances.  You  may  be  sure, 
Harry,  that  you  can  never  be  a  whole  man  without  a  wife." 

"  Well,"  I  said  ;  "  there's  time  enough  for  that  by  and  by: 
if  I'm  predestinated  I  suppose  it'll  come  along  when  I  have 
my  fortune  made." 

"  Don't  wait  to  be  rich,  Harry.  Find  a  faithful,  heroic 
friend  that  will  strike  hands  with  you,  poor,  and  begin  to 
build  up  your  nest  together,— that's  the  way  your  father  and 


98  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

mother  did,  and  who  enjoyed  more?  That's  the  way  your 
Aunt  Polly  .and  I  did,  and  a  good  time  we  have  had  of  it. 
There  has  always  been  the  handful  of  meal  in  the  barrel  and 
the  little  oil  in  the  cruse,  and  if  the  way  we  have  ahvuys 
lived  is  poverty,  all  I  have  to  say  is,  poverty  is  a  pretty  nice 
thing." 

"  But,"  said  I,  bitterly,  "  you  talk  of  golden  ages.  There 
are  no  such  women  now  as  you  found,  the  wornqn  now  are 
mere  effeminate  dolls  of  fashion — all  they  want  is  ease  and 
show,  and  luxury,  and  they  care  nothing  who  gives  it — one 
man  is  as  good  as  another  if  he  is  only  rich." 

"  Tut,  tut,  boy!  Don't  you  read  your  Bible?  Away  back 
in  Solomon's  time,  it's  written,  '  Who  can  find  a  virtuous 
woman?  Her  price  is  above  rubies.'  Are  rubies  found 
without  looking  for  them,  and  do  diamonds  lie  about  the 
street  ?  Now,  just  attend  to  my  words — brave  men  make 
noble  women,  and  noble  women  make  brave  men.  Be  a  true 
man  first,  and  some  day  a  true  woman  will  be  given  you. 
Yes,  a  woman  whose  opinion  of  you  will  hold  you  up  if  all 
the  world  were  against  you,  and  whose  'Well  done!'  will  be 
a  better  thing  to  come  home  to,  than  the  senseless  shouting 
of  the  world  who  scream  for  this  thing  to-day  and  that 
to-morrow." 

By  this  time  the  horse  had  turned  up  the  lane,  and  my 
mother  stood  smiling  in  the  door.  I  marked  the  soft 
white  hair  that  shone  like  a  moonlight  glory  round  her 
head,  and  prayed  inwardly  that  the  heavens  would  spare 
her  yet  a  little  longer. 


COUSIN  CAROLINE.  09 


CHAPTER     X. 

COUSIN  CAROLINE. 

|OU  must  go  and  sec  your  cousin  Caroline,"  said 
my  mother,  the  first  evening  after  I  got  home ; 
"you've  no  idea  how  pretty  she's  grown." 

"  She  is  what  I  call  a  pattern  girl/'  said  iny  uncle  Jacob,  "a 
girl  that  can  make  the  most  of  life." 

"She  is  a  model  housekeeper  and  manager,"  said  Aunt 
Polly. 

Now  if  Aunt  Polly  called  a  girl  a  model  house-keeper,  it, 
was  the  same  for  her  that  it  would  be  for  a  man  to  receive 
a  doctorate  from  a  college ;  in  fact  it  would  be  a  good  deal 
more,  as  Aunt  Polly  was  one  who  always  measured  her 
words,  and  never  said  anything  pro  forma,  or  without 
li uving  narrowly  examined  the  premises. 

Elderly  people  who  live  in  happy  matrimony  arc  in  a 
gentle  way  disposed  to  be  match- makers.  If  they  have 
sense,  as  my  elders  did,  they  do  not  show  this  disposition 
in  any  very  pronounced  way.  They  never  advise  a  young 
man  directly  to  try  his  fortune  with  "So  and  so,"  knowing 
that  that  would,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  be  the  direct  way 
to  defeat  their  purpose.  So  my  mother's  gentle  suggestion, 
and  my  uncle  Jacob's  praise,  and  Aunt  Polly's  endorsement, 
were  simply  in  the  line  of  the  most  natural  remarks. 

Cousin  Caroline  was  the  daughter  of  Uncle  Jacob's  brother, 
the  only  daughter  in  the  family.  Her  father  was  one  of 
those  men  most  useful  and  necessary  in  society,  composed 
of  virtues  and  properties  wholly  masculine.  He  was  strong, 
energetic,  shrewd,  acridly  conscientious,  and  with  an  inten- 
sity of  self-will  and  love  of  domination.  This  rugged 
rock,  all  granite,  had  won  a  tender  woman  to  nestle  and 


]  00  3f  r  WIFE  AND  I. 

flower  in  some  crevice  of  his  heart  and  she  had  clothed 
him  with  a  garland  of  sons  and  one  flower  of  a  daughter. 
Within  a  year  or  two  her  death  had  left  this  daughter  the 
mistress  of  her  father's  family.  I  remembered  Caroline  of 
old,  as  my  school  companion  ;  the  leading  scholar,  in  every 
study,  always  good  natured,  steady,  and  clear-headed,  ready 
to  help  me  when  I  faltered  in  a  translation,  or  the  solution 
of  an  algebraic  problem.  In  those  days  I  never  thought  of 
her  as  pretty.  There  were  the  outlines  and  rudiments, 
winch  might  bloom  into  beauty,  but  thin,  pale,  colorless, 
and  deficient  in  roundness  and  grace. 

I  had  seen  very  little  of  Caroline  through  my  college 
life ;  we  had  exchanged  occasionally  a  cousinly  letter,  but 
in  my  last  vacation  she  was  away  upon  a  visit.  I  was 
not,  therefore,  prepared  for  the  vision  which  bloomed  out 
upon  me  from  the  singer's  seat,  when  I  looked  up  on 
Sunday  and  saw  her,  standing  in  a  shaft  of  sunlight 
that  lit  up  her  whole  form  with  a  kind  of  glory.  I  rubbed 
my  eyes  with  astonishment,  as  I  saw  there  a  very  beautiful 
woman,  and  beautiful  in  quite  an  uncommon  style,  one 
which  promised  a  more  lasting  continuance  of  personal 
attraction  than  is  usual  with  our  New  England  girls.  I 
own,  that  a  head  and  bust  of  the  Venus  de  Milo  type ;  a 
figure  at  once  graceful,  yet  ample  in  its  proportions  ;  a  rich, 
glowing  bloom,  speaking  of  health  and  vigor,— gave  a  new 
radiance  to  eyes  that  I  had  always  admired,  in  days  when 
I  neter  had  thought  of  even  raising  the  question  of  Caro- 
line's beautv.  These  charms  were  set  off,  too,  by  a  native 
talent  for  dress, — that  sort  of  instinctive  gift  that  some 
women  have  of  arranging  their  toilet  so  as  exactly  to  suit 
their  own  peculiar  style.  There  was  nothing  fussy,  or  fur- 
belowed,  or  gaudy,  as  one  often  sees  in  the  dress  of  a 
country  beauty,  but  a  grand  and  severe  simplicity,  which 
in  her  case  was  the  very  perfection  of  art. 

My  Uncle  Ebenezer  Simmons  lived  at  a  distance  of  nearly 
two  miles  from  our  house,  but  that  evening,  after  tea,  1 
announced  to  my  mother  that  I  was  going  to  take  a  walk 


.Y  CAROLINE.  101 

over  to  see  cousiii  Caroline.  I  perceived  that  the  movement 
was  extremely  popular  and  satisfactory  in  the  eyes  of  all  the 
domestic  circle. 

Whose  thoughts  do  not  travel  in  this  direction,  I  wonder, 
in  a  small  country  neighborhood  ?  Here  comes  Harry  Hen- 
derson home  from  college,  with  his  laurels  on  his  brow,  and 
here  is  the  handsomest  girl  in  the  neighborhood,  a  pattern 
of  all  the  virtues.  What  is  there  to  be  done,  except  that 
they  should  straightway  fall  in  love  with  each  other,  and 
taking  hold  of  hands  walk  up  the  Hill  Difficulty  together? 
1  presume  that  no  good  gossip  in  our  native  village  saw  any 
other  arrangement  of  our  destiny  as  possible  or  probable. 

1  may  just  as  well  tell  my  readers  first  as  last,  that  we 
did  not  fall  in  love  with  each  other,  though  we  were  the  very 
best  friends  possible,  and  I  spent  nearly  half  my  time  nt  my 
uncle's  house,  besetting  her  at  all  hours,  and  having  the  best 
possible  time  in  her  society;  but  our  relations  were  as 
i  lankly  and  clearly  those  of  brother  and  sister  as  if  we  had 
been  children  of  one  mother. 

For  a  beautiful  woman,  Caroline  had  the  least  of  what  one 
nrny  call  legitimate  coquetry,  of  any  person  1  ever  saw. 
There  are  some  women,  and  women  of  a  high  class  too,  who 
seem  to  take  a  natural  and  innocent  pleasure  in  the  power 
which  their  sex  enables  them  to  exercise  over  men,  and 
who  instinctively  do  a  thousand  things  to  captivate  and 
(•harm  one  of  the  opposite  sex,  even  when  they  would  greatly 
i  egret  winning  his  whole  heart.  If  well  principled  and 
instructed  they  try  to  keep  themselves  under  control,  but 
they  still  do  a  thousand  ensnaring  things,  for  no  other  rea- 
son, that  I  can  see,  than  that  it  is  their  nature,  and  they  can- 
not help  it.  If  they  have  less  principle  this  faculty  becomes 
theii  available  power,  by  which  they  can  take  possession  of 
all  that  a  man  has,  and  use  it  to  carry  their  own  plans  and 
purposes. 

Of  this  power,  whatever  it  may  be,  Caroline  had  nothing ; 
nay,  more,  she  despised  it,  and  received  the  admiration  and 


102  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

attentions  -which  her  beauty  drew  from  the  opposite  sex, 
with  a.  coldness,  in  some  instances  amounting  to  incivility. 

With  me  she  had  been  from  the  first  so  frankly,  cheerfully 
and  undisgmsedly  affectionate  and  kind,  and  with,  such  a 
straightforward  air  of  comradeship  and  a  literal  ignoring  of 
everything  sentimental,  that  the  very  ground  of  anything 
like  love-making  did  not  seem  to  exist  between  us.  The 
last  evening  before  I  was  to  leave  for  my  voyage  to  Europe, 
1  spent  with  her,  and  she  gave  me  a  curiously- wrought 
traveling-case,  in  which  there  was  a  pocket  for  any  imagin- 
able thing  that  a  bachelor  might  be  supposed  to  want  on  his 
travels. 

'*  1  wish  I  could  go  with  you,"  she  said  to  me,  with  an 
energy  quite  out  of  her  usual  line. 

"  I  am  sure  I  wish  you  could,"  said  I ;  and  what  with  the 
natural  softness  of  heart  that  a  yoiing  man  feels,  when  he 
is  plunging  off  from  the  safe  ground  of  home  into  the  world 
and  partly  from  the  unwonted  glow  of  feeling  that  came 
over  Caroline's  face,  as  she  spoke,  I  felt  quite  a  rush  of 
emotion,  and  said,  as  I  kissed  her  hand,  "  Why  didn't  we 
think  of  this  before,  Caroline  ?w 

"  Oh,  nonsense,  Henry ;  don't  you  be  sentimental,  of  all 
things/'  she  replied  briskly,  withdrawing  her  hand.  "  Of 
course,  1  didn't  mean  anything  more  than  that  1  wished  I 
was  a  young  fellow  like  you,  free  to  take  my  staff  and 
bundle,  and  make  my  way  in  the  great  world.  Why  couldn't 
Ibef 

"  Jot/,"  said  I,  "Caroline,  you,  with  your  beauty  and  your 
talents,— I  think  you  might  be  satisfied  with  a  woman's  lot 
in  life." 

"  A  woman's  lot !  and  what  is  that,  pray1?  to  sit  with  folded 
hands  and  see  life  drifting  by — to  be  a  mere  nullity,  and 
endure  to  have  my  good  friends  pat  me  on  the  back,  and 
think  1  am  a  bright  and  shining  light  of  contentment  in 
woman's  sphere  ?" 

"  But,"  said  I,  *'  you  know,  Caroline,  that  there  is  always  » 


COUSIN  CAROLINE.  103 

possibility  in  woman's  destiny,  especially  a  woman  so  beau- 
tiful as  you  are." 

"  You  mean  marriage.  Well,  perhaps  if  I  could  do  as  you 
can,  go  all  over  the  world,  examine  and  search  for  the  one  I 
want,  and  find  him,  the  case  would  be  somewhat  equal; 
but  my  chances  arc  only  among  those  who  propose  to  me. 
Now,  I  have  read  in  the  Arabian  Nights  of  princesses  so 
beautiful  that  men  came  in  regiments,  to  seek  the  honor  of 
their  hand;  but  such  tilings  don't  occur  in  our  times  in  New 
England  villages.  My  list  for  selection  must  be  confined  to 
such  of  the  eligible  men  in  this  neighborhood  as  are  in  want 
of  wives ;  men  who  want  wives  as  they  do  cooking-stoves, 
and  make  up  their  minds  that  I  may  suit  them.  By  the 
by,  I  have  been  informed  already  of  one  who  has  had  me 
under  consideration,  and  concluded  not  to  take  me.  Silas 
Boardinan,  I  understand,  has  made  up  his  mind,  and  in- 
formed his  sisters  of  the  fact,  that  I  ain  altogether  too 
dressy  in  my  taste  for  his  limited  means,  and  besides  that 
I  am  too  free  and  independent ;  so  that  door  is  closed  to  me, 
you'll  observe.  Silas  won't  have  me !" 

"  The  conceited  puppy !"  said  I. 

"Well,  isn't  that  the  common  understanding  among  men 
—that  all  the  marriageable  girls  in  their  neighborhood  are 
on  exhibition  for  their  convenience?  If  the  very  first  idea  of 
marriage  with  any  one  of  them  were  not  so  intensely  disa- 
greeable to  me,  I  would  almost  be  willing  to  let  some  of 
them  ask  me,  just  to  hear  what  I  could  tell  them.  Now  you 
know,  Harry,  1  put  you  out  of  the  case,  because  you  are 
my  cousin,  and  I  no  more  think  of  you  in  that  way  than  if 
you  were  my  brother,  but,  frankly,  I  never  yet  saw  the  man 
that  I  could  by  any  stretch  of  imagination  conceive  of  my 
wanting,  or  being  willing  to  marry ;  1  know  no  man  that  it 
wouldn't  be  an  untold  horror  to  me  to  be  doomed  to  marry. 
I  would  rather  scrub  floors  on  my  knees  for  a  living." 

"  But  you  do  see  happy  marriages." 

"  Oh,  yes,  dear  souls,  of  course  I  do,  and  am  glad  of  it, 
and  wonder  and  admire ;  yes,  I  see  some  happy  marriages. 


104  3fr  WIFE  AXD  I. 

There's  Uncle  Jacob  and  his  wife,  kind  old  souls,  two  dear 
old  pigeons  of  the  sanctuary! — how  charmingly  they  get 
along !  and  your  father  and  mother — they  seemed  one  soul ; 
it  really  was  encouraging  to  see  that  people  could  live  so." 

"But  you  musn't  be  too  ideal,  Caroline;  you  musn't 
demand  too  much  of  a  man." 

"  Demand  ?  I  don't  demand  anything  of  any  man,  I  only 
want  to  be  let  alone.  I  don't  want  to  wait  for  a  husband  to 
make  me  a  position,  I  want  to  make  one  for  myself ;  1  don't 
want  to  take  a  husband's  money,  I  want  my  own.  You  have 
individual  ideas  of  life,  you  want  to  work  them  out ;  so  have 
I:  you  are  expected  and  encouraged  to  work  them  out 
independently,  while  I  am  forbidden.  Now,  what  would 
you  say  if  somebody  told  you  to  sit  down  quietly  in  the 
domestic  circle  and  read  to  your  mother,  and  keep  the  wood 
split  and  piled,  and  the  hearth  swept,  and  diffuse  a  sweet 
perfume  of  domestic  goodness,  like  the  violet  amid  its  leaves, 
till  by  and  by  some  woman  should  come  and  give  you  a 
fortune  and  position,  and  develop  your  affections, — how 
would  you  like  that  ?  Now  the  case  with  me  is  just  here, 
I  am,  if  you  choose  to  say  it,  so  ideal  and  peculiar  in  my 
views  that  there  is  no  reasonable  prospect  that  I  shall  ever 
marry,  but  I  want  a  position,  a  house  and  home  of  my  own, 
and  a  sphere  of  independent  action,  and  everybody  thinks 
this  absurd  and  nobody  helps  me.  As  long  as  mother  was 
alive,  there' was  some  consolation  in  feeling  that  I  was  every- 
thing to  her.  Poor  soul !  she  had  a  hard  life,  and  I  was  her 
greatest  pride  and  comfort,  but  now  she  is  gone,  there  is 
nothing  I  do  for  my  father  that  a  good,  smart  housekeeper 
could  not  be  hired  to  do ;  but  you  see  that  would  cost  money, 
and  the  money  that  I  thus  save  is  invested  without  consulting 
me  :  it  goes  to  buy  more  rocky  land,  when  we  have  already 
more  than  we  know  what  to  do  with.  1  sacrifice  all  my  tastes, 
I  stunt  my  growth  mentally  and  intellectually  to  this  daily 
tread-mill  of  house  and  dairy,  and  yet  I  have  not  a  cent  that 
I  can  call  my  own,  I  am  a  servant  working  for  board  and 
clothes,  and  because  I  am  a  daughter  I  am  expected  to  do  it 


COUSIN  CAROLINE.  105 

cheerfully ;  my  only  escape  from  this  position  is  to  take  a 
similar  one  in  the  family  of  some  man  to  whom,  in  addition 
to  the  superintendence  of  his  household,  I  shall  owe  the 
personal  duties  of  a  wife,  and  that  way  out  you  may  know 
I  shall  never  take.  So  you  are  sure  to  find  me  ten  or  twenty 
years  hence  a  fixture  in  this  neighborhood,  spoken  of  famil- 
iarly as  *  old  Miss  Caroline  Simmons,'  a  cross-pious  old  maid, 
held  up  as  a  warning  to  contumacious  young  beauties  how 
they  neglect  their  first  gracious  offer.  'Caroline  was  a 
handsome  gal  in  her  time,'  they'll  say,  'but  she  was  too  per- 
ticklar,  and  now  her  day  is  over  and  she's  left  an  old  maid. 
She  held  her  head  too  high  and  said  "No"  a  little  too  often; 
ye  see,  gals  better  take  their  fust  chances.'" 

"After  all,  cousin,"  I  said,  "though  we  men  are  all  un- 
worthy sinners,  yet  sometimes  you  women  do  yield  to  much 
persuasion,  and  take  some  one  out  of  pity." 

"  I  can't  do  that ;  in  fact  I  have  tried  to  do  it,  and  can't. 
This  desperate  dullness,  and  restraint,  and  utter  paralysis  of 
progress  that  lies  like  a  nightmare  on  one,  is  a  dreadful 
temptat  ion ;  when  a  man  offers  you  a  fortune,  which  will  give 
you  ease,  leisure,  and  power  to  follow  all  yonr  tastes  and  a 
certain  independent  stand,  such  as  unmarried  women  cannot 
take,  ir  is  a  great  temptation." 

"  But  you  resisted  it !" 

"Well,  I  was  sorely  tried;  there  were  things  I  wanted 
desperately — a  splendid  house  in  Boston,  pictures,  carriages, 
servants, — oh,  I  did  want  them ;  I  wanted  the  eclat,  too,  of  a 
rich  marriage,  but  I  couldn't ;  the  man  was  too  good  a  man 
to  be  trifled  with  ;  if  he  would  only  have  been  a  good  uncle 
or  grandpa  I  would  have  loved  him  dearly,  and  been  ever  so 
de voted,  kept  his  house  beautifully,  waited  on  him  like  a 
dutiful  daughter,  read  to  him,  sung  to  him,  nursed  him, 
been  the  best  friend  in  the  world  to  him,  but  his  wife  I  could 
not  be ;  the  very  idea  of  it  made  the  worthy  creature  per 
i'ectly  repulsive  and  hateful  to  me." 

"Did  you  ever  try  to  tell  your  father  how  you  feel  f 

"Of  what  earthly  use?    There  are  people  in  this  world 


106  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

who  don't  understand  each  other's  vernacular.  Papa  and  I 
could  no  more  discuss  any  question  of  the  inner  life  together 
than  if  he  spoke  Chickasaw  and  I  spoke  French.  Papa  has 
a  respect  for  my  practical  efficiency  and  business  talent,  and 
in  a  certain  range  of  ideas  we  get  on  well  together.  He 
thinks  I  have  made  a  great  mi  stake,  and  that  there  is  a  crack 
in  my  head  somewhere,  but  he  says  nothing;  his  idea  is 
that  I  have  let  slip  the  only  chance  of  my  life,  but  still,  as  I 
am  a  great  convenience  at  home,  he  is  reconciled.  I  suppose 
all  my  friends  mourn  in  secret  places  over  me,  and  I  should 
have  been  applauded  and  commended  on  ail  hands  if  I  had 
done  it;  but,  after  all,  wouldn't  it  be  a  great  deal  more 
honest,  more  womanly,  more  like  a  reasonable  creature,  for 
me  to  do  just  what  you  are  doing,  fit  myself  to  make  my 
own  way,  and  make  an  independence  for  myself  ?  Really 
it  isn't  honest  to  take  a  position  where  you  know  you  can't 
give  the  main  thing  asked  for,  and  keep  out  somebody  per- 
haps who  can.  My  friend  has  made  himself  happy  with  a 
woman  who  perfectly  adores  him,  and  ought  to  be  much 
obliged  to  me  that  I  didn't  take  him  at  his  word;  good,  silly 
soul  that  he  was." 

"But,  after  all,  the  Prince  may  come — the  fated  knight — 
Caroline." 

"And  deliver  the  distressed  damsel f  she  said,  laughing. 
"Well,  when  he  conies  I'll  show  him  my  'swan's  nest  among 
the  reeds.'  Soberly,  the  fact  is,  cousin,"  she  said,  "you  men 
don't  know  us  women.  In  the  first  place  they  say  that  there 
are  more  of  us  born  than  there  are  of  you  :  and  that  doesn't 
happen  merely  to  give  you  a  good  number  to  choose  from, 
and  enable  every  widower  to  find  a  supernumerary ;  it  is 
because  it  was  meant  that  some  women  should  lead  a  life 
different  from  the  domestic  one.  The  womanly  nature  can 
be  of  use  otherwhere  besides  in  marriage,  in  our  world.  To 
bo  sure,  for  the  largest  class  of  women  there  is  nothing 
like  marriage,  and  I  suppose  the  usages  of  society  arc  made 
for  the  majority,  and  exceptional  people  mustn't  grumble  if 


COUSIN  CAROLINE.  107 

they  don't  find  things  comfortable ;  but  I  am  persuaded  that 
there  is  a  work  and  a  way  for  those  who  cannot  marry." 

"Well,  there's  Uncle  Jacob  has  just  been  preaching  to  me 
that  no  man  can  be  developed  fully  without  a  wife,"  said  I. 

"Uncle  Jacob  has  matrimony  on  the  brain!  it's  lucky  he 
isn't  a  despotic  Czar  or,  I  believe,  he'd  many  all  the  men 
and  women,  wille  nille.  I  grant  that  the  rare,  real  marriage, 
that  occurs  one  time  in  a  hundred,  is  the  true  ideal  state 
for  man  and  woman,  but  it  doesn't  follow  that  all  and  every- 
thing that  brings  man  and  woman  together  in  marriage 
is  blessed,  and  I  take  my  stand  on  St.  Paul's  doctrine  that 
there  are  both  men  and  women  called  to  some  higher  state ; 
now,  it  seems  to  me  that  the  number  of  these  increases 
with  the  advancement  of  society.  Marriage  requires  so 
close  an  intimacy  that  there  must  be  perfect  agreement  and 
sympathy ;  the  lower  down  in  the  scale  of  being  one  is,  the 
fewer  distinctive  points  there  are  of  difference  or  agreement. 
It  is  easier  for  John  and  Patrick,  and  Bridget  and  Katy,  to 
find  comfortable  sympathy  and  agreement  than  it  is  for 
those  far  up  in  the  scale  of  life  where  education  has  devel- 
oped a  thousand  individual  tastes  and  peculiarities.  We 
read  in  history  of  the  Rape  of  the  Sabines,  and  how  the 
women  thus  earned  off  at  hap-hazard  took  so  kindly  to  their 
husbands  that  they  wouldn't  be  taken  back  again.  Such 
things  are  only  possible  in  the  barbarous  stages  of  society, 
when  characters  are  very  rudimentary  and  simple.  If  a 
similar  experiment  were  made  on  women  of  the  cultivated 
classes  in  our  times  I  fancy  some  of  the  men  would  be  killed ; 
I  know  one  would," — she  said  with  an  energetic  grasp  of  her 
little  fist  and  a  flash  out  of  her  eyes. 

"But  the  ideal  marriage  is  the  thing  to  be  sought," 
said  I. 

"  For  you,  who  are  born  with  the  right  to  seek,  it  is  the 
thing  to  be  sought,"  she  said;  "for  me,  who  am  born  to 
wait  till  I  am  sought  by  exactly  the  right  one,  the  chances 
are  so  infinitesimal  that  they  ought  not  to  be  considered; 
I  may  have  a  fortune  left  me,  and  die  a  millionaire ;  there 


108  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

is  no  actual  impossibility  in  that  thing's  happening — it  is  a 
thing  that  has  happened  to  people  who  expected  it  as  little 
as  I  do— but  it  would  be  the  height  of  absurdity  to  base 
any  calculation  upon  it  •  and  yet  all  the  arrangements  that 
are  made  about  me  and  for  me,  are  made  on  the  presump- 
tion that  I  am  to  marry.  I  went  to  Uncle  Jacob  and  tried  to 
get  him  to  take  me  through  a  course  of  medical  study,  to 
fit  me  for  a  professional  life,  and  it  was  impossible  to  get 
him  to  take  any  serious  view  of  it,  or  to  believe  what  I  said; 
he  seemed  really  to  think  I  was  plotting  to  upset  the  Bible 
and  the  Constitution,  in  planning  for  an  independent  life." 

"After  all,  Caroline,  you  must  pardon  me  if  I  say  that  it 
does  not  seem  possible  that  a  woman  like  you  will  be  allowed 
— that  is  you  know — you  will — well— find  somebody — that  is, 
you  will  be  less  exacting  by  and  by." 

"  Exacting !  why  do  you  use  that  word,  when  I  don't  exact 
anything  ?  I  am  not  so  very  ideal  in  my  tastes,  I  am  only 
individual ;  I  must  have  in  myself  a  certain  feeling  towards 
this  possible  individual,  and  I  don't  find  it.  In  one  case  cer- 
tainly I  asked  myself  why  I  didn't  ?  The  man  was  all  he 
should  be,  I  didn't  object  to  him  in  the  slightest  degree  as 
a  man ;  but  looked  on  respecting  the  marriage  relation,  he 
was  simply  intolerable.  It  must  be  that  I  have  no  vocation 
to  marry,  and  yet  I  want  what  any  live  woman  wants;  I 
want  something  of  my  own ;  I  want  a  life-work  worth  doing ; 
I  want  a  home  of  my  own ;  I  want  money  that  I  can  use  as 
I  please,  that  I  can  give  and  withhold,  and  dispose  of  as  ab- 
solutely mine,  and  not  another's;  and  the  world  seems  all 
arranged  so  as  to  hinder  my  getting  it.  If  a  man  wrants 
to  get  an  education  there  are  colleges  with  rich  founda- 
tions, where  endowments  have  been  heaped  up,  and  scholar- 
ships founded,  to  enable  him  to  prepare  for  life  at  reasonable 
expense.  There  are  no  such  for  women,  and  their  schoole, 
such  as  they  are,  infinitely  poorer  than  those  given  to  men, 
involve  double  the  expense.  If  you  ask  a  professional  man 
to  teach  you  privately,  he  laughs  at  you,  compliments  you, 
and  sends  you  away  with  the  feeling  that  he  considers  you 


COUSIN  CAROLIXK.  10a 

a  silly,  cracked-brain  girl,  or  perhaps  an  unsuccessful  angler 
in  matrimonial  waters ;  lie  seems  to  think  that  there  is  no 
use  teaching  you,  because  you  will  throw  down  all,  and 
run  for  the  first  man  that  beckons  to  you.  That  sort  of 
presumption  is  insufferable  to  me." 

"Oh,  well,  Carrie,  you  know  those  old  Doctors,  they  get  a 
certain  jog-trot  way  of  arranging  human  life ;  and  then 
men  that  are  happily  married  are  in  such  bliss,  and  such 
women-worshipers  that  they  cannot  make  up  their  niind 
that  anybody  they  care  about  should  not  enter  their  para- 
dise." 

"  I  do  not  despise  their  paradise,"  said  Caroline ;  "I  think 
everybody  most  happy  that  can  enter  it.  I  am  thankful 
to  see  that  they  can.  I  am  delighted  and  astonished  every 
day  at  beholding  the  bliss  and  satisfaction  with  which  really 
nice,  pretty  girls  take  up  with  the  men  they  do,  and  I  think 
it  all  very  delightful ;  but  it's  rather  hard  on  me  that,  since 
I  oan't  have  that,  I  mustn't  have  anything  else." 

"After  all,  Caroline,  is  not  your  dissatisfaction  with  the 
laws  of  nature  f 

"Not  exactly ;  I  won't  quarrel  with  the  will  that  made  me 
a  woman,  not  in  my  deepest  heart.  Neither  being  a  woman 
do  I  want  to  be  unwomanly.  I  would  not,  if  I  could,  do 
as  Georges  Sand  did,  put  on  men's  clothes  and  live  a  man's 
life.  Anything  of  that  sort  in  a  woman  is  very  repulsive 
and  disgusting  to  me.  At  the  same  time,  I  do  think  that 
the  customs  and  laws  of  society  might  be  modified  so  as  to 
give  to  women  who  do  not  choose  to  marry,  independent 
positi6n  and  means  of  securing  home  and  fortune.  Mar- 
riage never  ought  to  be  entered  on  as  a  means  of  support. 
It  seems  to  me  that  our  sex  are  enough  weighted  by  nature, 
and  that  therefore  all  the  laws  and  institutions  of  society 
ought  to  act  in  just  the  contrary  direction,  and  tend  to  hold 
us  up — to  widen  our  way,  to  encourage  our  eftorts,  because 
we  are  the  weaker  party,  and  need  it  most.  The  world 
is  now  arranged  for  the  strong,  and  I  think  it  ought  to  be 
re-arranged  for  the  weak." 


110  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

I  paused,  and  pondered  all  that  slic  had  been  saying. 

'4  My  in  other — "  I  began. 

"  Xow,  please  don't  quote  your  mother  to  me.  I  know 
what  she  woiild  say.  If  two  angels  were  sent  down  from 
Heaven,  the  one  to  govern  an  empire,  and  the  other  to 
sweep  the  streets,  they  would  not  wish  to  change  with 
each  other;  it  is  perhaps  true. 

"  But  then,  you  see,  that  is  only  possible  because  they 
are  angels.  Your  mother  has  got  up  somewhere  into  that 
region,  but  I  am  down  in  the  low  lands,  and  must  do  the  best 
I  can  on  my  plane.  I  can  conceive  of  those  moral  heights 
where  one  thing  is  just  as  agreeable  as  another,  but  I  have 
not  yet  reached  them.  Besides,  you  know  Jacob  wrestled 
with  his  angel,  and  was  commended  for  it. ;  and  I  think  we 
ought  to  satisfy  ourselves  by  good,  strong  effort  that  our 
lot  is  of  God.  If  we  really  cannot  help  ourselves,  we  may 
be  resigned  to  it  as  His  will." 

"  Caroline,"  I  said,  "  if  you  might  have  exactly  wrhat  you 
want,  what  would  it  have  been  ?" 

"  In  the  first  place,  then,  exactly  the  same  education  with 
my^  brothers.  I  hear  of  colleges  now,  somewhere  far  out 
west,  where  a  brother  and  sister  may  go  through  the  same 
course  together;  that  would  have  suited  me.  I  am  impa- 
tient of  half -education.  I  am  by  nature  very  thorough 
and  exact.  I  want  to  be  sure  of  doing  whatever  I  un- 
dertake as  well  as  it  can  be  done.  I  don't  want  to  be  flat- 
tered and  petted  for  pretty  ignorance.  I  don't  want  to 
be  tolerated  in  any  half  way,  slovenly  work  of  any  kind 
because  I  am  a  woman.  When  I  have  a  thorough  general 
education,  I  then  want  to  make  professional  studies.  I  have 
a  great  aptitude  for  medicine.  I  have  a  natural  turn  for  the 
care  of  sick,  and  am  now  sent  for  far  and  near  as  one  of 
the  best  advisers  and  watchers  in  case  of  sickness.  In  that 
profession  I  don't  doubt  I  might  do  great  good,  be  v^ry 
happy,  have  a  cheerful  home  of  own,  and  a  pleasant  life- 
work  ;  but  I  don't  want  to  enter  it  half  taught.  I  want  to 


COUSIN  CAROLINE.  HI 

be  ab]e  to  do  as  good  work  as  any  man's ;  to  be  held  to 
the  same  account,  and  receive  only  what  I  can  fairly  win/7 

"  But,  Canfline,  a  man's  life  includes  so  much  drudgery/1 

"And  does  not  mine?  Do  you  suppose  that  the  care  of! 
all  the  house  and  dairy,  the  oversight  of  all  my  father's 
home  affairs,  is  no  drudgery  °?  Much  of  it  is  done  with  my 
o\vn  hands,  because  no  other  Avork  than  mine  can  content 
me.  But  when  you  ai  d  I  went  to  school  together,  it  was 
just  so :  you  know  I  worked  out  my  own  problems  and  made 
my  own  investigations.  Now  all  that  is  laid  aside  ;  at  least, 
all  my  efforts  are  so  hap-hazard  and  painfully  incomplete, 
that  it  is  discouraging  to  me." 

"  But  would  not  your  father  consent1?" 

•'  My  father  is  a  man  wedded  to  the  past,  and  set  against 
every  change  in  ideas.  I  have  tried  to  get  his  consent 
to  let  me  go  and  study,  and  prepare  myself  to  do  some- 
thing worth  doing,  but  he  is  perfectly  immovable.  He  says 
I  know  more  now  than  half  the  women,  and  a  great  deal 
too  much  for  my  good,  and  that  he  cannot  spare  me.  At 
twenty-one  he  makes  no  further  claim  on  any  of  my  broth- 
ers; their  minority  comes  to  an  end  at  a  certain  periods- 
mine,  never." 

We  were  walking  in  the  moonlight  up  and  down  under 
the  trees  by  the  house.  Caroline  suddenly  stopped. 

"  Cousin,"  she  said,  "if  you  succeed ;  if  you  get  to  be  what 
I  hope  you  will— high  in  the  Avorld,  a  prosperous  editor- 
speak  for  the  dumb,  for  us  whose  lives  burn  themselves 
out  into  white  ashes  in  silence  and  repression." 

"  I  icill"  I  said. 

"  You  Avill  write  to  me ;  I  shall  rejoice  to  hear  of  the 
world  through  you — and  I  shall  rejoice  in  your  success,"  she 
added. 

"Caroline,"  I  said,  "do  you  give  up  entirely  Avrestling 
with  the  angel  f ' 

No ;  if  1  did,  I  should  not  keep  up.  I  have  hope  from 
year  to  year  that  something  may  happen  to  bring  things  to 
my  wishes;  that  I  may  obtain  a  hearing  with  papa;  that  his 
sense  of  justice  may  be  aroused;  that  I  may  get  Uncle 


112  3/r  WIFE  AND  I. 

Jacob  to  do  something  besides  recite  verses  and  compli- 
ment me  ;  that  your  mother  may  speak  for  inc." 

"  You  have  never  told  your  heart  to  my  motfier  ?  " 

"No;  I  am  very  reticent,  and  these  adoring  wives  have 
but  one  recipe  for  all  our  troubles." 

"  I  think,  Caroline,  that  her's  is  a  wide,  free  nature,  that 
takes  views  above  the  ordinary  level  of  things,  and  that  she 
would  understand  and  might  work  for  you.  Tell  her  what 
you  have  been  telling  me." 

"  You  may,  if  you  please.  I  will  talk  with  her  afterward 
perhaps  she  will  do  something  for  me." 


WHY  DON'T  YOU  TAKE  HER.  1 18 


CHAPTER     XT. 

WHY  DON'T  YOU  TAKE  HER? 

[HE  next  day  I  spoke  to  my  uncle  Jacob  of  Caroline's 
desire  to  study,  and  said  that  some  way  ought  to 
be  provided  for  taking  her  out  of  her  present 
confined  limits. 

He  looked  at  me  with  a  shrewd,  quizzical  expression,  and 
«aid:  "Providence  generally  opens  a  way  out  for  girls  as 
handsome  as  she  is.  Caroline  is  a  little  restless  just  at 
present,  and  so  is  getting  some  of  these  modern  strong- 
minded  notions  into  her  head.  The  fact  is,  that  our  region 
is  a  little  too  much  out  of  the  world  ;  there  is  nobody  around 
here,  probably,  that  she  would  think  a  suitable  match  for 
her.  Caroline  ought  to  visit,  now,  and  cruise  about  a  little 
in  some  of  the  watering-places  next  summer,  and  be  seen. 
There  are  few  girls  with  a  finer  air,  or  more  sure  to  make 
a  sensation.  I  fancy  she  would  soon  find  the  right  sphere 
under  these  circumstances." 

"  But  does  it  not  occur  to  you,  uncle,  that  the  very  idea 
of  going  out  into  the  world,  seeking  to  attract  and  fall  in 
the  way  of  offers  of  marriage,  is  one  from  which  such  a  spirit 
as  Caroline's  must  revolt  ?  Is  there  not  something  essen- 
tially unwomanly  in  it — something  humiliating?  I  know, 
myself,  that  she  is  too  proud,  too  justly  self-respecting, 
to  do  it.  And  why  should  a  superior  woman  be  condemned 
to  smother  her  whole  nature,  to  bind  down  all  her  facul- 
ties, and  wait  for  occupation  in  a  sphere  which  it  is  unwom- 
anly to  seek  directly,  and  unwomanly  to  accept  when 
offered  to  her,  unless  offered  by  the  one  of  a  thousand  for 
whom  she  can  have  a  certain  feeling?" 

"To  tell  the  truth,"  said  my  uncle,  looking  at  me  again, 
"  1  always  thought  in  my  heart  that  Caroline  was  just  the 


114  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

proper  person  for  you— just  the  woman  you  need — brave, 
strong,  and  yet  lovely ;  and  I  don't  see  any  objection  in  the 
way  of  your  taking  her." 

Elderly  people  of  a  benevolent  turn  often  get  a  matter-of- 
fact  way  of  arranging  the  affairs  of  their  juniors  that  is 
sufficiently  amusing.  My  uncle  spoke  with  a  confidential 
air  of  good  faith  of  my  taking  Caroline  as  if  she  had  been 
a  lot  of  land  up  for  sale.  Seeing  my  look  of  blank  embar- 
rassment, he  went  on : 

"You  perhaps  think  the  relationship  an  objection,  but  I 
have  my  own  views  on  that  subject.  The  only  objection 
to  the  intermarriage  of  cousins  is  one  that  depends  entirely 
on  similarity  of  race  peculiarities.  Sometimes  cousins 
inheriting  each  from  different  races,  are  physiologically  as 
much  of  diverse  blood  as  if  their  parents  had  not  been 
related,  and  in  that  case  there  isn't  the  slightest  objection 
to  marriage.  Now,  Caroline,  though  her  father  is  your 
mother's  brother,  inherits  evidently  the  Selwyn  blood. 
She's  all  her  mother,  or  rather  her  grandmother,  who  was  a 
celebrated  beauty.  Caroline  is  a  Selwyn,  every  inch,  and 
you  are  as  free  to  marry  her  as  any  woman  yon  can  meet." 

"  You  talk  as  if  she  were  a  golden  apple,  that  I  had  noth- 
ing to  do  but  reach  forth  my  hand  to  pick,"  said  I.  "  Did  it 
never  occur  to  you  that  I  couldn't  take  her  if  I  were  to  try?3' 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  Uncle  Jacob,  looking  rac  over 
in  a  manner  which  indicated  a  complimentary  opinion. 
"  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that.  She's  not  in  the  way  of  seeing 
many  men  superior  to  you." 

"And  suppose  that  she  were  that  sort  of  woman  who  did 
not  wish  to  marry  at  all  ?"  said  I. 

My  uncle  looked  quizzical,  and  said,  "  I  doubt  the  exist- 
ence of  that  species." 

"  It  appears  to  me,"  said  I,  "that  Caroline  is  by  nature  so 
much  more  fitted  for  the  life  of  a  scholar  than  that  of  an 
ordinary  domestic  woman,  that  nothing  but  a  most  absorb- 
ing and  extraordinary  amount  of  personal  affection  would 
ever  make  the  routine  oi  domestic  life  agreeable  to  her. 


WHY  DON'T  YOU  TAKE  HER  ?  115 

She  is  very  fastidious  and  individual  in  her  tastes,  too,  and 
the  probabilities  of  her  finding  the  person  whom  she  could 
love  in  this  manner  arc  very  small.  Now  it  appears  to  me 
that  the  taking  for  granted  that  all  women,  without  respect 
to  taste  or  temperament,  must  have  no  sphere  or  opening 
for  their  faculties  except  domestic  life,  is  as  great  an 
absurdity  in  our  modern  civilization  as  the  stupid  custom  of 
half-civilized  nations,  by  which  every  son,  no  matter  what 
his  character,  is  obliged  to  confine  himself  to  the  trade  of 
his  father.  I  should  have  felt  it  a  hardship  to  be  con- 
demned always  to  be  a  shoemaker  if  my  father  had  been 
one." 

"  Nay,''  said  my  uncle,  "the  cases  are  not  parallel.  The 
domestic  sphere  of  wife  and  mother  to  which  woman  is 
called,  is  divine  and  god-like ;  it  is  sacred,  and  solemn,  and 
no  woman  can  go  higher  than  that,  and  anything  else  to 
which  she  devotes  herself,  falls  infinitely  below  it." 

"  Well,  then/'  said  I,  "let  me  use  another  simile.  My  father 
was  a  minister,  and  I  reverence  and  almost  adore  the  ideal 
of  such  a  minister,  and  such  a  ministry  as  his  was.  Yet  it 
would  be  an  oppression  on  me  to  constrain  me  to  enter  into 
it.  I  am  not  adapted  to  it,  or  fitted  for  it.  I  should  make 
a  failure  in  it,  while  I  might  succeed  in  a  lower  sphere. 
Now  it  seems  to  me  that  just  as  no  one  should  enter  the 
ministry  as  a  means  of  support  or  worldly  position,  but 
wholly  from  a  divine  enthusiasm,  so  no  woman  should  enter 
marriage  for  provision,  or  station,  or  support;  but  simply 
and  only  from  the  most  purely  personal  affection.  And  my 
theory  of  life  would  be,  to  have  society  so  arranged  that 
independent  woman  shall  have  every  facility  for  develop- 
ing her  mind  and  perfecting  herself  that  independent  man 
has,  and  every  opportunity  in  society  for  acquiring  and 
holding  property,  for  securing  influence,  and  position,  and 
fame,  just  as  man  can.  If  laws  are  to  make  any  difference 
between  the  two  sexes,  they  ought  to  help,  and  not  to 
hinder  the  weaker  party.  Then,  I  think,  a  man  might  feel 
that  his  wife  came  to  him  from  the  purest  and  highest 


1  ]  6  MY  WIFE  AXD  I. 

kind  of  love — not  driven  to  him  as  a  refuge,  not  compelled 
to  take  Mm  as  a  dernier  resort,  not  struggling  and  striving 
to  bring  her  mind  to  him,  because  she  must  marry  some- 
body,— but  choosing  him  intelligently  and  freely,  because  he 
is  the  one  more  to  her  than  all  the  world  beside/' 

"  Well,"  said  my  uncle,  regretfully,  "  of  course  I  don't 
want  to  be  a  matchmaker,  but  I  did  hope  that  3^011  and 
Caroline  would  be  so  agreed  ;  and  I  think  now,  that  if  you 
would  try,  you  might  put  these  notions  out  of  her  head,  and 
put  yourself  in  their  place." 

"  And  what  if  I  had  tried,  and  become  certain  that  it  was 
of  no  use  f 

"  You  don't  say  she  has  refused  you  P  said  my  uncle,  with 
a  start. 

"No,  indeed!"  said  I.  "Caroline  is  one  of  those  women 
whose  whole  manner  keeps  off  entirely  all  approaches  of 
that  kind.  You  may  rely  upon  it,  uncle,  that  while  she 
loves  me  as  frankly  and  truly  and  honestly  as  ever  sister 
loved  a  brother,  yet  I  am  perfectly  convinced  that  it  is 
mainly  because  [  have  kept  myself  clear  of  any  misun- 
derstanding of  her  noble  frankness,  or  any  presumption 
founded  upon  it.  Her  love  to  me  is  honest  comradeship, 
just  such  as  I  might  have  from  a  college  mate,  and  there 
is  not  the  least  danger  of  its  sliding  into  anything  else. 
There  may  be  an  Endymion  to  this  Diana,  but  it  certainly 
won't  be  Harry  Henderson." 

"  H'm !"  said  my  uncle.  "  Well,  I'm  afraid  then  that  she 
never  will  marry,  and  you  certainly  must  grant  that  a 
woman  unmarried  remains  forever  undeveloped  and  incom- 
plete." 

"  No  more  than  a  man,"  said  I.  '•'  A  man  who  never 
becomes  a  father  is  incomplete  in  one  great  resemblance  to 
the  divine  being.  Yet  there  have  been  men  with  the  ele- 
ment of  fatherhood  more  largely  developed  in  celibacy  than 
most  are  in  marriage.  There  was  Fenelon,  for  instance, 
who  was  married  to  humanity.  Every  human  being  that 
he  met  held  the  place  of  a  child  in  his  heart.  No  individual 


imr  DON'T  YOU  TA  Ki:   HER  :  117 

experience  of  fatherhood  could  make  such  men  as  he  more 
fatherly.  And  in  like  manner  there  are  women  with  more 
natural  motherhood  than  many  mothers.  Such  are  to  lie 
found  in  the  sisterhoods  that  gather  together  lost  and  orphan 
children,  and  are  their  mothers  in  God.  There  are  natures 
who  do  not  need  the  development  of  marriage ;  they  know 
instinctively  all  it  can  teach  them.  But  they  are  found  only 
in  the  rarest  and  highest  regions." 

"  Well,"  said  my  uncle,  "  for  every  kind  of  existence  in 
creation  God  has  made  a  mate,  and  the  eagles  that  live  on 
mountain  tops,  and  fly  toward  the  sun,  have  still  their 
kindred  eagles.  Now,  I  think,  for  my  part,  that  if  Fenelon 
had  married  Madame  Guyon,  he  would  have  had  a  richer 
and  a  happier  life  of  it,  and  she  would  have  gone  off  into 
fewer  vagaries,  and  they  would  have  left  the  Church  some 
splendid  children,  who  might,  perhaps,  have  been  born 
without  total  depravit}r.  You  see  these  perfected  speci- 
mens owe  it  to  humanity  to  perpetuate  their  kind." 

"Well,"  said  I,  "let  them  do  it  by  spiritual  fatherhood 
and  motherhood.  St.  Paul  speaks  often  of  his  converts 
as  those  begotten  of  him — the  children  of  his  soul;  a  thou- 
sand-fold more  of  them  there  were,  than  there  could  have 
been  if  he  had  weighted  himself  with  the  care  of  an  indi- 
vidual family.  Think  of  the  spiritual  children  of  Plato  and 
St.  Augustine !" 

"This  may  be  all  very  fine,  youngster,"  said  my  uncle, 
"  but  very  exceptional ;  yet  for  all  that,  I  should  be  sorry 
to  see  a  fine  woman  like  Caroline  withering  into  an  old 
maid." 

"She  certainly  will,"  said  I,  "unless  you  and  mother 
stretch  forth  your  hands  and  give  her  liberty  to  seek  her 
destiny  in  the  mode  in  which  nature  inclines  her.  You 
will  never  get  her  to  go  husband-hunting.  The  mere  idea 
suggested  to  her  of  exiiibiting  her  charms  in  places  of  resort, 
in  the  vague  hope  of  being  chosen,  would  be  sufficient  to 
keep  her  out  of  society.  She  has  one  of  those  independent 
natures  to  which  it  is  just  as  necessary  for  happiness  that 


118  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

she  should  make  her  own  wajr,  and  just  as  irksome  to 
depend  on  others,  as  it  is  for  most  young  men.  She  has  a 
lino  philosophic  mind,  great  powers  of  acquisition,  a  curi- 
osity for  scientific  research  ;  and  her  desire  is  to  fit  herself 
for  a  physician, — a  sphere  perfectly  womanly,  and  in  which 
the  motherly  nature  of  woman  can  be  most  beautifully 
developed.  Now,  help  her  with  your  knowledge  through 
the  introductory  stages  of  study,  and  use  your  influence 
afterward  to  get  her  father  to  give  her  wider  advantages." 

"  Well,  the  fact  is,"  said  my  uncle,  "  Caroline  is  a  splendid 
nurse ;  she  has  great  physical  strength  and  endurance, 
great  courage  and  presence  of  mind,  and  a  wonderful 
power  of  consoling  and  comforting  sick  people.  She  has 
borrowed  some  of  my  books,  and  seemed  to  show  a  consid- 
erable acuteness  in  her  remarks  on  them.  But  somehow  the 
idea  that  a  lovely  young  woman  should  devote  herself  to 
medicine,  has  seemed  to  me  a  great  waste,  and  I  never 
seriously  encouraged  it." 

"  Depend  upon  it,"  said  I,  "  Caroline  is  a  woman  who  will 
become  more  charming  in  proportion  as  she  moves  more 
thoroughly  and  perfectly  in  the  sphere  for  which  nature 
has  adapted  her.  Keep  a  great,  stately*  white  swan  shut  up 
in  a  barn-yard  and  she  has  an  ungainly  gait,  becomes 
morose,  and  loses  her  beautiful  feathers ;  but  set  her  free 
to  glide  oil'  into  her  native  element  and  all  is  harmonious 
and  beautiful.  A  superior  woman,  gifted  with  personal 
attractions,  who  is  forgetting  herself  in  the  enthusiasm  of 
some  high  calling  or  profession,  never  becomes  an  old 
maid;  she  does  not  wither;  she  advances  as  life  goes  on, 
and  often  keeps  her  charms  longer  than  the  matron  ex- 
hausted by  family  cares  and  motherhood.  A  charming 
woman,  fully  and  happily  settled  and  employed  in  a  life- 
work  which  is  all  in  all  to  her,  is  far  more  likely  to  be 
attractive  and  to  be  sought  than  one  who  enters  the  ranks  of 
the  fashionable  waiters  on  Providence." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  my  uncle,  "  111  think  of  it.  The  fact  is, 
we  fellows  of  three-score  ought  to  be  knocked  on  the  head 


WHY  DON'T  YOU  TAKE  HER  t  119 

peaceably.  We  have  tlie  bother  of  being  progressive  all 
through  our  youth,  and  by  the  time  we  get  something 
settled,  up  comes  your  next  generation  and  begins  kicking 
it  all  over.  It's  too  bad  to  demolish  the  house  we  spend 
our  youth  in  building  just  when  we  want  rest,  and  don't 
want  the  fatigue  of  building  over." 

"  For  that  matter,"  said  I,  "  the  modern  ideas  of  woman's 
sphere  were  all  thought  out  and  expressed  in  the  Greek 
mythology  ages  and  ages  ago.  The  Greeks  didn't  fit  every 
woman  to  one  type.  There  was  their  pretty,  plump  little 
Aphrodite,  and  their  godlike  Venus  de  Milo ;  there  was 
Diana — the  woman  of  cold,  bright,  pure  physical  organiza- 
tion,— independent,  free,  vigorous.  There  was  Minerva,  the 
impersonation  of  the  purely  intellectual  woman,  who  neither 
wished  nor  sought  marriage.  There  was  Juno,  the  house- 
keeper and  domestic  queen,  and  Ceres,  the  bread-giver  and 
provider.  In  short,  the  Greeks  conceived  a  variety  of 
spheres  of  womanhood;  but  we,  in  modern  times,  have 
reduced  all  to  one — the  vine  that  twines,  and  the  violet  hid 
in  the  leaves  ;  as  if  the  Victoria  Regia  hadn't  as  good  aright 
to  grow  as  the  daisy,  and  as  if  there  were  not  female  oaks 
and  pines  as  well  as  male!" 

"Well,  after  all,"  he  said,  "the  prevalent  type  of  sex 
through  nature,  is  that  of  strength  for  man  and  dependence 
for  woman." 

"  N:iy,"  said  I ;  "if  you  appeal  to  nature  in  this  matter  of 
sex,  there  is  the  female  element  in  grand  and  powerful  forms, 
as  well  as  in  gentle  and  dependent  ones.  The  she-lion  and 
tiger  arc  more  terrible  and  untamable  than  the  male.  The 
Greek  mythology  was  a  perfect  reflection  of  nature,  and 
clothed  woman  with  majesty  and  power  as  well  as  with 
grace ;  how  splendid  those  descriptions  of  Homer  are, 
where  Minerva,  clad  i:i  celesthil  armor,  leads  the  forces  of 
the  Grc  l:s  to  battle!  What  vigor  there  is  in  their  imper- 
sonation oi'  tlio  Diana  ;  the  woman  strong  in  herself,  scorn- 
ing physical  passion,  raid  terrible  to  approach  in  the  radiant 
majesty  of  her  beauty,  striking  with  death  the  vulgar  curi- 


120  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

osity  that  dared  to  profane  her  sanctuary !  That  was  the 
ideal  of  a  woman,  self-sufficient,  victorious,  and  capable  of 
a  grand,  free,  proud  life  of  her  own,  not  needing  to  depend 
upon  man.  The  Greeks  never  would  have  imagined  such 
goddesses  if  they  had  not  seen  such  women,  and  our  modem 
civilization  is  imperfect  if  it  does  not  provide  a  place  and 
sphere  for  such  types  of  womanhood.  It  takes  all  sorts  of 
people  to  make  up  a  Avorld,  and  there  ought  to  be  provis- 
ion, toleration,  and  free  course  for  all  sorts." 

"Well,  youngster,"  said  my  uncle,  "I  think  you'll  write 
tolerable  leaders  for  some  radical  paper,  one  of  these  days, 
but  you  fellows  that  want  to  get  into  the  chariot  of  the  sun 
and  drive  it,  had  better  think  a  little  before  you  set  the 
world  on  fire.  As  for  your  Diana,  I  thank  Heaven  she  isn't 
my  wife,  and  I  think  it  would  be  pretty  cold  picking  with 
your  Minerva." 

"Permit  me  to  say,  uncle,  that  in  this  'latter  day  glory'  that 
is  coming,  men  have  got  to  learn  to  judge  women  by  some 
other  standard  than  what  would  make  good  wives  for  them, 
and  acknowledge  sometimes  a  femininity  existing  in  and  for 
itself.  As  there  is  a  possible  manhood  complete  without 
woman,  so  there  is  a  possible  womanhood  complete  with- 
out man." 

"That's  not  the  Christian  idea,"  said  my  uncle. 

"  Pardon  me,"  I  replied,  "  but  I  believe  it  is  exactly  what 
St.  Paul  meant  when  he  spoke  of  the  state  of  celibacy,  in 
devotion  to  the  higher  spiritual  life,  as  being  a  higher  state 
for  some  men  and  women  than  marriage." 

"  You  are  on  dangerous  ground  there,"  said  my  uncle,  "you 
will  run  right  into  monastic  absurdity." 

"High  grounds  are  always  dangerous  grounds,"  said  I, 
"  full  of  pitfalls  and  precipices,  yet  the  Lord  has  persisted  in 
making  mountains,  precipices,  pitfalls,  and  all,  and  being 
made  they  may  as  well  be  explored,  even  at  the  risk  of 
breaking  one's  neck.  We  may  as  well  look  every  question 
in  the  face,  and  run  every  inquiry  to  its  ultimate." 

"Go  it  then,"  said  my  uncle,  "and  joy  go  with  you;  the 


WHY  DOJV'T  YOU  TAKE  HER  f  ]  21 

chariot  of  the  sun  is  the  place  for  a  prospect !  Up  with  you 
into  it,  my  boy,  that  kind  of  driving  is  interesting ;  in  fact, 
when  I  was  young,  I  should  have  liked  it  myself,  but  if 
you  don't  want  to  kick  up  as  great  a  bobbery  as  Phaeton  did' 
you'd  better  mind  his  father's  advice :  spare  the  whip,  and 
use  the  reins  with  those  fiery  horses  of  the  future." 

"But,  now,"  said  I,  "as  the  final  result  of  all  this,  will 
you  help  Caroline  ?" 

"Yes,  I  will ;  soberly  and  seriously,  I  will.  I'll  drive  over 
there  and  have  a  little  talk  with  the  girl,  as  soon  as  you're 
gone." 

"And,  uncle,"  said  I,  "if  you  wish  to  gain  influence  with 
her,  don't  natter  nor  compliment ;  examine  her,  and  appoint 
her  tasks  exactly  as  you  would  those  of  a  young  man  in 
similar  circumstances.  You  will  please  her  best  so ;  she  is 
ready  to  do  work,  and  make  serious  studies ;  she  is  of  a  tho- 
rough, earnest  nature,  and  will  do  credit  to  your  teaching." 

"What  a  pity  she  wasn't  born  a  boy,"  said  my  uncle, 
under  his  breath. 

"  Well,  let  you  and  me  do  what  we  can,"  said  I,  "to  bring 
in  such  a  state  of  things  in  this  world  that  it  shall  no  longer 
be  said  of  any  woman  that  it  was  a  pity  not  to  have  been 
born  a  man." 

Subsequently  I  spoke  to  my  mother  on  the  same  subject 
and  gave  her  an  account  of  my  interview  with  Caroline. 

I  think  that  my  mother,  in  her  own  secret  heart,  had  cher- 
ished very  much  the  same  hopes  for  me  that  had  been  ex- 
pressed by  Uncle  Jacob.  Caroline  was  an  uncommon  person, 
the  star  of  the  little  secluded  neighborhood,  and  my  mother 
hud  seen  enough  of  her  to  know  that,  though  principally 
absorbed  in  the  requirements  of  a  very  hard  domestic  sphere 
si  H>  possessed  an  uncommon  character  and  great  capabilities. 
Between  her  and  my  mother,  however,  there  had  been 
that  silence  which  often  exists  between  two  natures,  both 
sensitive  and  both  reticent,  who  seem  to  act  as  non-conduc- 
tors to  each  other.  Caroline  stood  a  little  in  awe  of  the 


122  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

moral  and  religious  force  of  my  mother,  and  my  mother 
was  a  little  chilled  by  the  keen  intellectualism  of  Caroline. 

There  are  people  that  cannot  understand  each  other 
without  an  interpreter,  and  it  is  not  unfrequently  easier  for 
men  and  women  to  speak  confidentially  to  each  other  than 
to  their  own  sex.  There  are  certain  aspects  in  which  each 
sex  is  sure  of  more  comprehension  than  from  its  own.  I 
served,  in  this  case,  as  the  connecting  wire  of  the  galvanic 
battery  to  pass  the  spark  of  sympathetic  comprehension 
between  these  two  natures. 

My  mother  was  one  of  those  women  naturally  timid,  reti- 
cent, retiring,  encompassed  by  physical  diffidence  as  wTith  a 
mantle — so  sensitive  that,  even  in  an  argument  with  me, 
the  blood  would  flush  into  her  cheeks — yet,  she  had  withal 
that  deep,  brooding,  philosophical  nature,  which  revolves  all 
things  silently,  and  with  intensest  interest,  and  comes  to 
perfectly  independent  conclusions  in  the  irresponsible  lib- 
erty of  solitude.  How  many  times  has  this  great  noisy  world 
been  looked  out  on,  and  silently  judged  by  these  quiet* 
thoughtful  women  of  the  Virgin  Mary  type,  who  have  never 
uttered  their  magnificat  till  they  uttered  it  beyond  the  veil  1 
My  mother  seemed  to  be  a  woman  in  whom  religious  faith 
had  risen  to  that  amount  of  certainty  and  security,  that  she 
feared  no  kind  of  investigation  or  discussion,  and  had  no 
prejudices  or  passionate  preferences.  Thus  she  read  the 
works  of  the  modern  physical  philosophical  school  with  a 
tranquil  curiosity,  and  a  patient  analysis,  apparently  enjoy- 
ing every  well-turned  expression,  and  receiving  with  inter- 
est, and  weighing  with  deliberation  every  record  of  experi- 
ments, and  every  investigation  of  facts.  Her  faith  in  her 
religion  was  so  perfect  that  she  could  afford  all  these  explor- 
ations, no  more  expecting  her  Christian  hopes  to  fall, 
through  any  discoveries  of  modern  science,  than  she  expect- 
ed the  sun  to  cease  shining  on  account  of  the  contradictory 
theories  of  astronomers.  They  who  have  lived  in  commun- 
ion with  God  have  a  mode  of  evidence  unknown  to  philoso- 


WHY  DON'T  YOU  TAKE  HER?  ]23 

phers;  a  knowledge  at  first  hand.  In  the  same  manner, 
the  wideness  of  Christian  charity  gave  my  mother  a  most 
Catholic  tolerance  for  natures  unlike  her  own. 

"  I  have  always  believed  in  the  doctrine  of  vocations,"  she 
said,  as  she  listened  to  me  ;  "it  is  one  of  those  points  where 
the  Romish  church  has  shown  a  superior  good  sense  in  dis- 
covering and  making  a  place  for  every  kind  of  nature." 

"  Caroline  has  been  afraid  to  confide  in  you,  lest  you  should 
think  her  struggles  to  rise  above  her  destiny,  and  her  dissat- 
isfaction with  it,  irreligious. 

"  Far  from  it,"  said  my  mother ;  "  I  wholly  sympathize  with 
her ;  people  don't  realize  what  it  is  to  starve  faculties ;  they 
understand  physical  starvation,  but  the  slow  fainting  and 
dying  of  desires  and  capabilities  for  want  of  anything  to 
feed  upon,  the  withering  of  powers  for  want  of  exercise,  is 
what  they  do  not  understand.  This  is  what  Caroline  is  con- 
demned to,  by  the  fixed  will  of  her  father,  and  whether  any 
mortal  can  prevail  with  him,  I  don't  know." 

"  You  might,  dear  mother,  I  am  sure." 

"I  doubt  it;  he  has  a  manner  that  freezes  me.  I  think 
in  his  hard,  silent,  interior  way,  he  loves  me,  but  any  argu- 
ment addressed  to  liim,  any  direct  attempt  to  change  his 
opinions  and  purpose  only  makes  him  harder." 

"Would  it  not,  then,  be  her  right  to  choose  her  course 
without  his  consent — and  against  it ''"  My  mother  sat  with 
her  blue  eyes  looking  thoughtfully  before  her 

"There  is  no  point,"  she  said  slowly,  "that  requires  more 
careful  handling,  to  discriminate  right  from  wrong,  than  the 
limits  of  self-sacrifice.  To  a  certain  extent  it  is  a  virtue, 
and  the  noblest  one,  but  there  are  rights  of  the  individual 
that  ought  not  to  be  sacrificed  ;  our  own  happiness  has  its 
just  place,  and  1  cannot  see  it  to  be  more  right  to  suffer  injus- 
tice to  one's  self  than  to  another,  if  one  can  help  it.  The 
individual  right  of  self-assertion  of  child  against  parent  is 
like  the  right  of  revolution  in  the  State,  a  difficult  one  to 
define,  yet  a  real  one.  It  seems  to  me  that  one  owes  it  to 
God,  and  to  the  world,  to  become  all  that  one  can  be,  and  to 


124  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

do  all  that  one  can  do,  and  that  a  blind,  unreasoning  author- 
ity that  forbids  this  is  to  be  resisted  by  a  higher  law.  If  I 
would  help  another  person  to  escape  from  an  unreasoning 
tyranny,  I  ought  to  do  as  much  for  myself." 

"And  don't  you  think,"  said  I,  "that  the  silent  self-abne- 
gation of  some  fine  natures  has  done  harm  by  increasing  in 
those  around  them  the  habits  of  tyranny  and  selfishness  ?w 

"Undoubtedly,"  said  my  mother,  "many  wives  make  their 
husbands  bad  Christians,  and  really  stand  in  the  way  of  their 
salvation,  by  a  weak,  fond  submission,  and  a  sort  of  morbid 
passion  for  self-sacrifice — really  generous  and  noble  men  are 
often  tempted  to  fatal  habits  of  selfishness  in  this  way." 

"Then  would  it  not  be  better  for  Caroline  to  summon 
courage  to  tell  her  father  exactly  how  she  feels  and  views 
his  course  and  hers  ?" 

"He  has  a  habit,"  said  my  mother,  "of  cutting  short  any 
communication  from  his  children  that  doesn't  please  him* 
by  bringing  down  his  hand  abruptly  and  saying, '  No  more 
of  that,  I  don't  want  to  hear  it.'  With  me  he  accomplishes 
the  same  by  abruptly  leaving  the  room.  The  fact  is,"  said 
my  mother,  after  a  pause,  "  I  more  than  suspect  that  he  set 
his  foot  on  something  really  vital  to  Caroline's  life,  years  ago, 
when  she  was  quite  young." 

"You  mean  an  attachment1?" 

"Yes.  I  had  hoped  that  it  had  been  outgrown  or  super- 
seded, probably  it  may  be,  but  I  think  she  is  one  of  the  sort 
in  which  such  an  experience  often  destroys  all  chance  for 
any  other  to  come  after  it." 

"  Were  you  told  of  this  ?" 

"I  discovered  it  by  an  accident,  no  matter  how.  I  was 
not  told,  and  I  know  very  little,  yet  enough  to  enable  me  to 
admire  the  vigor  with  which  she  has  made  the  most  of  life, 
the  cheerfulness  and  thoroughness  with  which  she  has 
accepted  hard  duties.  Well,"  she  added,  after  a  pause,  "  I 
will  talk  with  Caroline,  and  we  will  see  what  can  be  done, 
and  then,"  she  added,  "we  can  carry  the  matter  to  a  higher 
One,  who  understands  all,  and  holds  all  in  his  hands." 


WHY  DON'T  YOU  TAKE  HER  f  125 

My  mother  spoke  with  a  bright  assured  force  of  this 
resort,  sacred  in  every  emergency. 

This  was  the  last  night  of  my  stay  at  home,  the  next  day 
I  was  to  start  for  my  ship  to  go  to  Europe.  I  sat  up  late  writ- 
ing to  Caroline,  and  left  the  letter  in  my  mother's  hands. 


126  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 


CHAPTER     XII. 

I  LAY  THE  FIRST  STONE  IN  MY  FOUNDATION. 

story  now  opens  in  New  York,  whither  I  am  come 
to  seek  my  fortune  as  a  maker  and  seller  of  the 
invisible  fabrics  of  the  brain. 

During  my  year  in  Europe  I  had  done  my  best  to  make  my- 
self known  at  the  workshops  of  different  literary  periodi- 
cals, as  a  fabricator  of  these  airy  wares.  I  tried  all  sorts 
and  sizes  of  articles,  from  grave  to  gay,  from  lively  to 
severe,  sowing  them  broadcast  in  various  papers,  without 
regard  to  pecuniary  profit,  and  the  consequence  was  that 
I  came  back  to  New  York  as  a  writer  favorably  known, 
who  had  made  something  of  a  position.  To  be  sure  my 
foot  was  on  the  lowest  round  of  the  ladder,  but  it  was  on 
the  ladder,  and  I  meant  to  climb. 

"To  climb to  what?"    In  the  answer  a  man  gives  to 

that  question  lies  the  whole  character  of  his  life-work.  If 
to  climb  be  merely  to  gain  a  name,  and  a  competence,  a 
home,  a  wife,  and  children,  with  the  means  of  keeping  them 
in  ease  and  comfort,  the  question,  though  beset  with  difficul- 
ties of  practical  performance,  is  comparatively  simple. 
But  if  in  addition  to  this  a  man  is  to  build  himself  up  after 
an  ideal  standard,  as  carefully  as  if  he  were  a  temple  ta 
stand  for  eternity  ;  if  he  is  to  lend  a  hand  to  help  that  great 
living  temple  which  God  is  perfecting  in  human  society, 
the  question  becomes  more  complicated  still. 

I  fear  some  of  my  fair  readers  are  by  this  time  impatient 
to  see  something  of  "my  wife."  Let  me  tell  them  for  their 
comfort  that  at  this  moment,  when  I  entered  New  York  on  a 
drizzly,  lonesome  December  evening  she  was  there,  fair  as  a 
star,  though  I  knew  it  not.  The  same  may  be  true  of  you, 


THE  FIRST  STONE  IN  MY  FOUNDATION.          3  27 

young  man.  If  yon  are  over  to  be  married,  your  wife  is 
probably  now  in  the  world ;  some  house  holds  her,  and 
there  are  mortal  eyes  at  this  hour  to  whom  her  lineaments 
are  as  familiar  as  they  are  unknown  to  you.  So  much  for 
the  doctrine  of  predestination. 

But  at  this  hour  that  I  speak  of,  though  the  lady  in  ques- 
tion was  a  living  and  blessed  fact,  and  though  she  looked 
on  the  same  stars,  and  breathed  the  same  air,  and  trod  daily 
the  same  sidewalk  with  myself,  I  was  not,  as  I  perceive,  any 
the  wiser  or  better  for  it  at  this  particular  period  of  my  ex- 
istence. 

In  fact,  though  she  was  in  a  large  part  the  unperceived 
spring  and  motive  of  all  that  I  did,  yet  at  this  particular 
time  I  was  so  busy  in  adjusting  the  material  foundations  of 
my  life  that  the  ideas  of  marrying  and  giving  in  marriage 
were  never  less  immediately  in  my  thoughts.  I  came  into 
New  York  a  stranger.  I  knew  nobody  personally,  and  I  had 
no  time  for  visiting. 

I  had  been,  in  the  course  of  my  wanderings,  in  many 
cities.  I  had  lingered  in  Paris,  Rome,  Florence,  and  Naples, 
and,  with  the  exception  of  London,  I  never  found  a  place  so 
difficult  to  breathe  the  breath  of  any  ideality,  or  any  enthu- 
siasm, cr  exaltation  of  any  description,  as  New  York. 
London,  with  its  ponderous  gloom,  its  sullen,  mammoth, 
aristocratic  shadows,  seems  to  benumb,  and  chill,  and  freeze 
the  soul ;  but  New  York  impressed  me  like  a  great  hot  fur- 
nace, where  twig,  spray,  and  flower  wither  in  a  moment, 
and  the  little  birds  flying  over,  drop  down  dead.  My  first 
impulse  in  life  there  was  to  cover,  and  conceal,  and  hide  in 
the  deepest  and  most  remote  caverns  of  my  heart  anything 
that  was  sacred,  and  delicate,  and  tender,  lest  the  flame 
should  scorch  it.  Balzac  in  his  epigrammatic  manner  has 
characterized  New  York  as  the  city  where  there  is  "neither 
faith,  hope,  nor  charity,"  and,  as  he  never  came  here,  I  sup- 
pose he  must  have  taken  his  impressions  from  the  descrip- 
tions of  unfortunate  compatriots,  who  have  landed  strangers 
and  been  precipitated  into  the  very  rush  and  whirl  of  its 


128  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

grinding  selfishness,  and  its  desperate  don't-care  manner  of 
doing  things.  There  is  abundance  of  selfishness  and  hard- 
ness in  Paris,  but  it  is  concealed  under  a  veil  of  ideality. 
The  city  wooes  you  like  a  home,  it  gives  you  picture-galle- 
ries, fountains,  gardens,  and  grottoes,  and  a  good  natured 
lounging  population,  who  have  nothing  to  do  but  make 
themselves  agreeable. 

I  must  confess  that  my  first  emotion  in  making  my  way 
about  the  streets  of  New  York,  before  I  had  associated 
them  with  any  intimacy  or  acquaintances,  was  a  vague 
sort  of  terror,  such  as  one  would  feel  at  being  jostled 
among  cannibals,  who  on  a  reasonable  provocation  would  n't 
hesitate  to  skin  him  and  pick  his  bones.  There- was  such 
a  driving,  merciless,  fierce  "  take-care-of -yourself,  and  devil 
take  the  hindmost"  air,  even  to  the  drays  and  omnibuses, 
and  hackmen,  that  I  had  somewhat  the  feeling  of  being  in 
an  unregulated  menagerie,  not  knowing  at  what  moment 
some  wild  beast  might  spring  upon  me.  As  I  became  more 
acquainted  in  the  circles  centering  around  the  different 
publications,  I  felt  an  acrid,  eager,  nipping  air,  in  which  it 
appeared  to  me  that  everybody  had  put  on  defensive  armor 
in  regard  to  his  own  innermost  and  most  precious  feelings, 
and  like  the  lobster,  armed  himself  with  claws  to  seize  and 
to  tear  that  which  came  in  his  way.  The  rivalry  between 
great  literary  organs  was  so  intense,  and  the  competition  so 
vivid,  that  the  offering  of  any  flower  of  fancy  or  feeling  to 
any  of  them,  seemed  about  as  absurd  as  if  a  man  should 
offer  a  tea-rose  bud  to  the  bawling,  shouting  hackman  that 
shake  their  whips  and  scream  at  the  landing. 

Everything  in  life  and  death,  and  time  and  eternity, 
whether  high  as  Heaven,  or  deep  as  hell,  seemed  to  be 
looked  upon  only  as  subject  matter  for  advertisement,  and 
material  for  running  a  paper.  Hand  out  your  wares! 
advertise  them  and  see  what  they  will  bring,  seemed  to 
be  the  only  law  of  production,  at  whose  behest  the  most 
delicate  webs  and  traceries  of  fancy,  the  most  solemn  and 
tender  mysteries  of  feeling,  the  most  awful  of  religious 


THE  FIRST  STONE  IN  MY  FOUNDATION.         129 

emotions  came  to  have  a  trademark  and  market  value !  In 
short,  New  \ork  is  the  great  business  mart,  the  Vanity 
Fair  of  the  world,  where  everything  is  pushed  by  adver- 
tising and  competition,  not  even  excepting  the  great  moral - 
enterprise  of  bringing  in  the  millennium  ;  and  in  the  first 
blast  and  blare  of  its  busy,  noisy  publicity  and  activity,  I 
felt  my  inner  spirits  shrink  and  tremble  with  dismay. 
Even  the  religion  of  this  modern  century  bears  the  deep 
impress  of  the  trade-mark,  which  calendars  its  financial 
value. 

I  could  not  but  think  what  the  sweet  and  retiring  Gali- 
lean, who  in  the  old  days  was  weary  and  worn  with  the 
rush  of  crowds  in  simple  old  Palestine,  must  think  if  he 
looks  down  now,  on  the  way  in  which  his  religion  is  adver- 
tised and  pushed  in  modern  society.  Certain  it  is,  if  it  be 
the  kingdom  of  God  that  is  coming  in  our  times,  it  is  coming 
with  very  great  observation,  and  people  have  long  since  for- 
got the  idea  that  they  are  not  to  say  "Lb,  here! "  and  "  Lo, 
there!"  since  that  is  precisely  what  a  large  part  of  the 
world  are  getting  their  living  by  doing. 

These  ideas  I  must  confess  bore  with  great  weight  on 
my  mind,  as  I  had  just  parted  from  my  mother,  whose  last 
words  were  that  whatever  else  I  did,  and  whether  I  gained 
anything  for  this  life  or  not,  she  trusted  that  I  would  live 
an  humble,  self-denying,  Christian  life.  I  must  own  that 
for  the  first  few  weeks  of  looking  into  the  interior  manage- 
ment of  literary  life  in  New  York,  the  idea  at  times  often 
seemed  to  me  really  ludicrous.  To  be  humble,  yet  to  seek 
success  in  society  where  it  is  the  first  duty  to  crow  from 
morning  till  night,  and  to  praise,  and  vaunt,  and  glorify,  at 
the  top  of  one's  lungs,  one's  own  party,  or  paper,  or  maga- 
zine, seemed  to  me  sufficiently  amusing.  However,  in  con- 
formity with  a  solemn  promise  made  to  my  mother,  I  lost 
no  time  in  uniting  myself  with  a  Christian  body,  of  my 
father's  own  denomination,  and  presented  a  letter  from  the 
Church  in  Highland  to  the  brethren  of  the  Bethany  Church. 

And  here  I  will  say  that  for  a  young  man  who  wantg 


130  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

shelter,  and  nourishment  and  shade  for  the  development  of 
his  fine  moral  sensibilities,  a  breakwater  to  keep  the  waves 
of  materialism  from  dashing  over  and  drowning  his  higher 
life,  there  is  nothing  better,  as  yet  to  be  found,  than  a  union 
with  some  one  of  the  many  bodies  of  differing  names  and 
denominations  calling  themselves  Christian  Churches.  A 
Christian  Church,  according  to  the  very  best  definition  of 
the  name  ever  yet  given,  is  a  congregation  of  faithful  men 
in  which  the  pure  word  of  God  is  preached,  and  the  sacra- 
ments duly  ministered  according  to  Christ's  ordinance ;  and 
making  due  allowance  for  all  the  ignorance,  and  prejudice, 
and  mistakes,  and  even  the  willful  hypocrisy,  which,  as 
human  nature  is,  must  always  exist  in  such  connections,  I 
must  say  that  I  think  these  Churches  are  the  best  form  of 
social  moral  culture  yet  invented,  and  not  to  be  dispensed 
with  till  something  more  fully  answering  the  purpose  has 
been  tested  for  as  long  a  time  as  they. 

These  are  caravans  that  cross  the  hot  and  weary  sands  of 
life,  and  while  there  may  be  wrangling  and  undesirable 
administration  at  times  within  them,  yet,  after  all,  the  pil- 
grim that  undertakes  alone  is  but  a  speck  in  the  wide  desert, 
too  often  blown  away,  and  withering  like  the  leaf  before  the 
wind. 

The  great  congregation  of  the  Bethany  on  Sabbath  days, 
all  standing  up  together  and  joining  in  mighty  hymn-sing- 
ing, though  all  were  outwardly  unknown  to  me,  seemed  to 
thrill  my  heart  with  a  sense  of  solemn  companionship,  in 
my  earliest  and  most  sacred  religious  associations.  It  was 
a  congregation  largely  made  up  of  young  men,  who  like 
myself  were  strangers,  away  from  home  and  friends,  and 
whose  hearts,  touched  and  warmed  by  the  familiar  sounds, 
seemed  to  send  forth  magnetic  odors  like  the  interlocked 
pine  trees  under  the  warm  sunshine  of  a  June  day. 

I  have  long  felt  that  he  who  would  work  his  brain  for 
a  living,  without  premature  wear  upon  the  organ,  must  have 
Sunday  placed  as  a  sacred  barrier  oi  entire  oblivion,  so  far 
as  possible,  of  the  course  ot  his  week-day  cares.  And  what 


THE  FIRST  STONE  IN  MY  FOUNDATION.          131 

oblivion  can  be  more  complete  than  to  rise  on  the  wings  of 
religious  ordinance  into  the  region  of  those  diviner  faculties 
by  which  man  recognizes  his  heirship  to  all  that  is  in  God  ? 

In  like  manner  I  found  an  oasis  in  the  hot  and  hurried 
course  of  my  week-day  life,  by  dropping  in  to  the  weekly 
prayer-meeting.  The  large,  bright,  pleasant  room  seemed 
so  social  and  home-like,  the  rows  of  cheerful,  well-dressed, 
thoughtful  people,  seemed,  even  before  I  knew  one  of  them, 
fatherly,  motherly,  brotherly,  and  sisterly,  as  they  joined 
with  the  piano  in  familiar  hymn-singing,  while  the  pastor 
sat  among  them  as  a  father  in  his  family,  and  easy  social 
conversation  went  on  with  regard  to  the  various  methods 
and  aspects  of  the  practical  religious  life. 

To  me,  a  stranger,  and  naturally  shy  and  undemonstra- 
tive, this  socialism  was  in  the  highest  degree  warming  and 
inspiring.  I  do  not  mean  to  set  the  praise  of  this  Church 
above  that  of  a  hundred  others,  with  which  I  might  have 
become  connected,  but  I  will  say  that  here  I  met  the  types 
of  some  of  those  good  old-fashioned  Christians  that  Haw- 
thorne celebrates  in  his  "Celestial  Railroad,"  under  the 
name  of  Messrs.  "Stick  to  the  Right, "  and  "Foot  it  to 
Heaven,"  men  better  known  among  the  poor  and  afflicted 
than  in  fashionable  or  literary  circles,  men  who,  without 
troubling  their  heads  about  much  speculation,  are  footing 
it  to  Heaven  on  the  old,  time-worn,  narrow  way,  and  carry- 
ing with  them  as  many  as  they  can  induce  to  go. 

Having  thus  provided  against  being  drawn  down  and 
utterly  swamped  in  the  bread-and-subsistence  struggle  that 
was  before  me,  I  sought  to  gain  a  position  in  connection 
with  some  paper  in  New  York.  I  had  offers  under  consid- 
eration from  several  of  them.  The  conductors  of  "  The 
Moral  Spouting  Horn"11  had  conversed  with  me  touching 
their  projects,  and  I  had  also  been  furnishing  letters  for  the 
"Great  Democracy,"  and  one  of  the  proprietors  had  invit- 
ed me  to  a  private  dinner,  I  suppose  for  the  purpose  of 
looking  me  over  and  trying  my  paces  before  he  concluded 
to  purchase  me. 


132  M Y  WIFE  AND  I. 

Mr.  Goldstick  was  a  florid,  middle-aged  man,  with  a 
slightly  bald  head,  an  easy  portliness  of  manner,  and  that 
air  of  comfortable  patronage  which  men  who  are  up  in 
the  world  sometimes  carry  towards  young  aspirants.  It 
was  his  policy  and  his  way  to  put  himself  at  once  on  a  foot- 
ng  of  equality  with  them,  easy,  jolly,  and  free;  justly 
thinking  that  thereby  he  gained  a  more  unguarded  insight 
into  the  inner  citadel  of  their  nature,  and  could  &ee  in  the 
easy  play  of  their  faculties  just  about  how  much  they  could 
be  made  to  answer  his  purposes.  I  had  a  chatty,  merry  din- 
ner of  it,  and  found  all  my  native  shyness  melting  away 
tinder  his  charming  affability.  In  fact,  during  the  latter 
part  of  the  time,  I  almost  felt  that  I  could  have  told  him 
anything  that  I  could  have  told  my  own  mother.  What 
did  we  not  talk  about  that  is  of  interest  in  these  stirring 
times?  Philosophy,  history,  science,  religion,  life,  death, 
and  immortality — all  received  the  most  graceful  off-hand 
treatment,  and  were  discussed  with  a  singular  unanimity 
of  sentiment — that  unanimity  which  always  takes  place 
when  the  partner  in  a  discussion  has  the  controlling  purpose 
to  be  of  the  same  mind  as  yourself.  When,  under  the  warm 
and  sunny  air  of  this  genial  nature,  I  had  fully  expanded, 
and  confidence  was  in  full  blossom,  came  the  immediate 
business  conversation  in  relation  to  the  paper. 

"I  am  rejoiced,"  said  Mr.  Goldstick,  "in  these  days  of 
skepticism  to  come  across  a  young  man  with  real  religious 
convictions.  I  am  not,  I  regret  to  say,  a  religious  professor 
myself,  but  I  appreciate  it,  Mr.  Henderson,  as  the  element 
most  wanting  in  our  modern  life." 

Here  Mr.  Goldstick  sighed  and  rolled  up  his  eyes,  and  took 
a  glass  of  wine. 

I  felt  encouraged  in  this  sympathetic  atmosphere  to  un- 
fold to  him  my  somewhat  idealized  views  of  what  might  be 
acccmplished  by  the  daily  press,  by  editors  as  truly  under 
moral  vows  and  consecrations,  as  the  clergymen  who  min- 
istered at  the  altar. 

He  caught  the  idea  from  me  with  enthusiasm,  and  went 


THE  FIRST  STONE  IN  MY  FOUNDATION.          133 

on  to  expand  it  with  a  vigor  and  richness  of  imagery,  and  to 
illustrate  it  with  a  profusion  of  incidents,  which  left  me  far 
behind  him,  gazing  after  him  with  reverential  admi ration. 

"Mr.  Henderson,"  said  he,  TJic  Great  Democracy  is  not 
primarily  a  money-making  enterprise — it  is  a  great  moral 
engine ;  it  is  for  the  great  American  people,  and  it  contem- 
plates results  which  look  to  the  complete  regeneration  of 
society." 

I  ventured  here  to  remark  that  the  same  object  had  been 
stated  to  me  by  the  Moral  Spouting  Horn. 

His  countenance  assumed  at  once  an  expression  of  intense 
disgust. 

"Is  it  possible,"  he  said,  "that  the  charlatan  has  been  try- 
ing to  get  hold  of  you  ?  My  dear  fellow,"  he  added,  draw- 
ing near  to  me  with  a  confidential  air,  "  of  course  I  would 
be  the  last  man  to  infringe  on  the  courtesies  due  to  my 
brethren  of  the  press,  and  you  must  be  aware  that  our  pres- 
ent conversation  is  to  be  considered  strictly  confidential." 

I  assured  him  with  fervor  that  I  should  consider  it  so. 

"Well,  then,"  he  said,  "between  ourselves,  I  may  say  that 
The  Moral  Spouting  Horn  is  a  humbug.  On  mature  reflec- 
tion," he  added,  "I  don't  know  but  duty  requires  me  to  go 
farther,  and  say,  in  the  strictest  confidence,  you  understand, 
that  I  consider  The  Moral  Spouting  Horn  a  swindle.7 

Here  it  occurred  to  me  that  the  same  communication  had 
been  made  in  equal  confidence,  by  the  proprietor  of  The 
Moral  Spouting  Horn  in  relation  to  TJie  Great  Democracy. 
But,  much  as  I  was  warmed  into  confidence  by  the  genial 
atmosphere  of  my  friend,  I  had  still  enough  prudence  to 
forbear  making  this  statement. 

"Xow,"  said  he,  "my  young  friend,  in  devoting  yourself 
to  the  service  of  The  Great  Democracy  you  may  consider 
yourself  as  serving  the  cause  of  God  and  mankind  in  ways 
that  no  clergyman  has  an  equal  chance  of  doing.  Beside 
the  press,  sir,  the  pulpit,  is  effete.  It  is,  so  to  speak,"  ho 
added,  with  a  sweep  of  the  right  hand,  "nowhere.  Of  course 
ttie  responsibilities  of  conducting  such  an  organ  are  tre- 


134  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

rnendous,  tremendous,"  he  added,  reflectively,  as  I  looked 
at  him  with  awe  ;  "  and  that  is  why  I  require  in  my  writers, 
above  all  things,  the  clearest  and  firmest  moral  convictions. 
Sir,  it  is  a  critical  period  in  our  history ;  there  is  an  amount 
of  corruption  in  this  nation  that  threatens  its  dissolution; 
the  Church  and  the  Pulpit  have  proved  entirely  inadequate 
to  stem  it.  It  rests  with  the  Press." 

There  was  a  solemn  pause,  in  which  nothing  was  heard  but 
the  clink  of  the  decanter  on  the  glass,  as  he  poured  out 
another  glass  of  wine. 

"It  is  a  great  responsibility,"  I  remarked,  with  a  sigh. 

"Enormous!"  he  added,  with  almost  a  groan,  eyeing  me 
sternly.  "Consider,"  he  went  on,  "the  evils  of  the  tre- 
mendously corrupted  literature  which  is  now  being  poured 
upon  the  community.  Sir,  we  are  fast  drifting  to  destruc- 
tion, it  is  a  solemn  fact.  The  public  mind  must  be  aroused 
and  strengthened  to  resist;  they  must  be  taught  to  dis- 
criminate ;  there  must  be  a  just  standard  of  moral  criticism 
no  less  than  of  intellectual,  and  that  must  be  attended  to 
in  our  paper." 

I  was  delighted  lo  find  his  views  in  such  accordance  with 
my  own,  and  assured  him  I  should  be  only  too  happy  to  do 
what  I  could  to  forward  them. 

"We  have  been  charmed  and  delighted,"  he  said,  "with 
your  contributions  hitherto ;  they  have  a  high  moral  tone 
and  have  been  deservedly  popular,  and  it  is  our  desire  to 
secure  you  as  a  stated  contributor  in  a  semi -editorial  capaci- 
ty, looking  towards  future  developments.  We  wish  that 
it  were  in  our  power  to  pay  a  more  liberal  sum  than  we  can 
offer,  but  you  must  be  aware,  Mr.  Henderson,  that  great 
moral  enterprises  must  always  depend,  in  a  certain  degree, 
on  the  element  of  self-sacrifice  in  its  promoters." 

I  reflected,  at  this  moment,  on  my  father's  life,  and  assent- 
ed with  enthusiasm — remarking  that  "if  I  could  only  get 
enough  to  furnish  me  with  the  necessaries  of  life  I  should 
be  delighted  to  go  into  the  glorious  work  with  him,  and 
give  to  it  the  whole  enthusiasm  of  ray  soul." 


THE  FIRST  STONE  IN  MY  FOUNDATION  1 35 

"You  have  the  right  spirit,  young  man,"  he  said.  "It  is 
delightful  to  witness  this  freshness  of  moral  feeling."  And 
thus,  before  our  interview  was  closed,  I  had  signed  a  con- 
tract of  service  to  Mr.  Goldstick,  at  very  moderate  wages, 
but  my  heart  was  filled  with  exulting  joy  at  the  idea  of  the 
possibilities  of  the  situation. 

I  was  young,  and  ardent ;  I  did  not,  at  this  moment,  want 
to  make  money  so  much  as  to  make  myself  felt  in  the 
great  world.  It  was  the  very  spirit  of  Phseton;  I  wanted 
to  have  a  hand  on  the  reins,  and  a  touch  of  the  whip,  and 
guide  the  fiery  hortes  of  Progress. 

I  had  written  stories,  and  sung  songs,  but  I  was  not  quite 
content  with  those ;  I  wanted  the  anonymous  pulpit  of  the 
Editor  to  speak  in,  the  opportunity  of  being  the  daily  in- 
visible companion  and  counselor  of  thousands  about  their 
daily  paths.  The  offer  of  Mr.  Goldstick,  as  I  understood  it, 
looked  that  way,  and  I  resolved  to  deserve  so  well  of 
him  by  unlimited  devotion  to  the  interests  of  the  paper, 
that  he  should  open  my  way  before  me. 


136  MY  WIFE   AND  I. 

CHAPTER     XIII. 

BACHELOR    COMRADES. 

SOON  became  well  acquainted  with  my  collabor- 
ators on  the  paper.  It  was  a  pleasant  surprise  to 
be  greeted  in  the  foreground  by  the  familiar  face 
of  Jim  Fellows,  my  old  college  class-mate. 

Jim  was  an  agreeable  creature,  bom  with  a  decided  genius 
for  gossip.  He  had  in  perfection  the  faculty  which  phrenol- 
ogists call  individuality.  He  was  statistical  in  the  very 
marrow  of  his  bones,  apparently  imbibing  all  the  external 
facts  of  every  person  and  everything  around  him,  by  a  kind 
of  rapid  instinct.  In  college,  Jim  always  knew  all  about 
every  student ;  he  knew  all  about  everybody  in  the  little 
town  where  the  college  was  situated,  their  name,  history, 
character,  business,  their  front  door  and  their  back  door 
affairs.  No  birth,  marriage,  or  death  ever  took  Jim  by  sur- 
prise ;  he  always  knew  all  about  it  long  ago. 

Now,  as  a  newspaper  is  a  gossip  market  on  a  large  scale, 
this  species  of  talent  often  goes  farther  in  our  modern  lite- 
rary life  than  the  deepest  reflection  or  the  highest  culture. 

Jim  was  the  best-natured  fellow  breathing ;  it  was  im- 
possible to  ruffle  or  disturb  the  easy,  rattling,  chattering 
flow  of  his  animal  spirits.  He  was  like  a  Frenchman  in  his 
power  of  bright,  airy  adaptation  to  circumstances,  and  de- 
termination and  ability  to  make  the  most  of  them. 

"  How  lucky !"  he  said,  the  morning  I  first  shook  hands 
with  him  at  the  office  of  the  Great  Democracy  ;  "  you  are 
just  on  the  minute ;  the  very  lodging  you  want  has  been 
vacated  this  morning  by  old  Styles;  sunny  room — south 
windows — close  by  here — water,  gas,  and  so  on,  all  correct ; 
and,  best  of  all,  me  for  your  opposite  neighbor." 

I  went  round  with  him,  looked,  approved,  and  was  settled 


BACHELOR  COMRADES.  137 

at  once,  Jim  helping  me  with  all  the  good-natured  handi- 
noss  and  activity  of  old  college  days.  We  had  a  rattling, 
gay  morning,  plunging  round  into  auction -rooms,  bargain- 
ing for  second-hand  furniture,  and  with  so  much  zeal  did 
we  drive  our  enterprise,  seconded  by  the  co-labors  of  a  char- 
woman whom  Jim  patronized,  that  by  night  I  found  myself 
actually  settled  in  a  home  of  my  own,  making  tea  in  Jim's 
patent  bachelor  tea-kettle,  and  talking  over  his  and  my 
affairs  with  the  freedom  of  old  cronies.  Jim  made  no  scru- 
ple in  inquiring  in  the  most  direct  manner  as  to  the  terms 
of  my  agreement  with  Mr.  Goldstick,  and  opened  the  sub- 
ject succinctly,  as  follows : 

"Now,  my  son,  you  must  let  your  old  grandfather  ad- 
vise you  a  little  about  your  temporalities.  In  the  first 
place ;  what's  Old  Soapy  going  to  give  you  ?" 

"  If  you  mean  Mr.  Goldstick,"  said  I 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "call  him  ' Soapy'  for  short.  Did  he 
come  down  handsomely  on  the  terms?" 

"  His  offers  were  not  as  large  as  I  should  have  liked ;  but 
then,  as  he  said,  this  paper  is  not  a  money-making  affair, 
but  a  moral  enterprise,  and  I  am  willing  to  work  for  less." 

"Moral  grandmother!"  said  Jim,  in  a  tone  of  unlimited 
disgust.  "  He  be— choked,  as  it  were.  Why,  Harry  Hen- 
derson, are  your  eye-teeth  in  such  a  retrograde  state  as  that  ? 
Why,  this  paper  is  a  f ortune  to  that  man ;  he  lives  in  a 
palace,  owns  a  picture  gallery,  and  rolls  about  in  his  own 
carriage." 

"I  understood  him,"  said  I,  "that  the  paper  was  not 
immediately  profitable  in  a  pecuniary  point  of  view." 

"  Soapy  calls  everything  unprofitable  that  does  not  yield 
him  fifty  per  cent,  on  the  money  invested.  Talk  of  moral 
enterprise !  What  did  he  engage  you  for  ?" 

I  stated  the  terms. 

"  For  how  long  F 

"  For  one  year." 

"  Well,  the  best  you  can  do  is  to  work  it  out  now.  Never 
make  another  bargain  without  asking  your  grandfather. 


138  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

Why,  lie  pays  me  just  double ;  and  you  know,  Harry,  I 
am  nothing  at  ail  of  a  writer  compared  to  you.  But  then, 
to  be  sure,  I  fill  a  place  you've  really  no  talent  for." 

"What  is  that F 

"  General  professor  of  humbug/'  said  Jim.  "  No  sort  of 
business  gets  on  in  this  world  without  that,  and  I'm  a  real 
genius  in  that  line.  I  made  Old  Soapy  come  down,  by 
threatening  to  '  rat,'  and, go  to  the  Spouting  Horn,  and  they 
couldn't  afford  to  let  me  do  that.  You  see,  I've  been  up 
their  back  stairs,  and  know  all  their  little  family  secrets. 
The  Spouting  Horn  would  give  their  eye-teeth  for  me.  It's 
too  funny,"  he  said,  throwing  himself  back  and  laughing. 

"  Are  these  papers  rivals  ?"  said  I. 

"Well,  I  should  'rayther'  think  they  were,"  said  he,  eyeing 
me  with  an  air  of  superiority  amounting  almost  to  contempt. 
"  Why,  man,  the  thing  that  I'm  particularly  valuable  for  is, 
that  I  always  know  just  what  will  plague  the  Spouting 
Horn  folks  the  most.  I  know  precisely  where  to  stick  a  pin 
or  a  needle  into  them ;  and  one  great  object  of  our  paper  is 
to  show  that  the  Spouting  Horn  is  always  in  the  wrong. 
No  matter  what  topic  is  uppermost,  I  attend  to  that,  and 
get  off  something  on  them.  For  you  see,  they  are  popular, 
and  make  money  like  thunder,  and,  of  course,  that  isn't  to 
be  allowed.  "  Now,"  he  added,  pointing  with  his  thumb  up- 
ward, "overhead,  there  is  really  our  best  "fellow— Bolton. 
Bolton  is  said  to  be  the  best  writer  of  English  in  our 
day ;  he's  an  A  No.  1,  and  no  mistake ;  tremendously  edu- 
cated, and  all  that,  and  he  knows  exactly  to  a  shaving  what's 
what  everywhere ;  he's  a  gentleman,  too ;  we  call  him  the 
Dominie.  Well,  Bolton  writes  the  great  leaders,  and  fires 
off  on  all  the  awful  and  solemn  topics,  and  lays  off  the  poli- 
tics of  Europe  and  the  world  generally.  When  there's  a 
row  over  there  in  Europe,  Bolton  is  magnificent  on  edito- 
rials. You  see,  he  has  the  run  of  all  the  rows  they  have  had 
there,  and  every  bobbery  that  has  been  kicked  up  since  the 
Christian  era.  He'll  tell  you  what  the  French  did  in  1700 


BACHELOR   COMRADES.  130 

this,  and  the  Germans  in  1800  that,  and  of  course  he  proph- 
esies splendidly  on  what's  to  turn  up  next." 

"  I  suppose  they  give  him  large  pay,"  said  I. 

"  Well,  you  see,  Bolton's  a  quiet  fellow  and  a  gentleman- 
one  that  hates  to  jaw — and  is  modest,  and  so  they  keep  him 
along  steady  on  about  half  what  J  would  get  out  of  them 
if  I  were  in  his  skin.  Bolton  is  perfectly  satisfied.  If  I 
were  he,  I  shouldn't  be,  you  see.  I  say,  Harry,  I  know 
you'd  like  him.  Let  me  bring  him  down  and  introduce 
him,"  and  before  I  could  either  consent  or  refuse,  Jim  rat- 
tled up  stairs,  and  I  heard  him  in  an  earnest,  persuasive 
treaty,  and  soon  he  came  down  with  his  captive. 

I  saw  a  man  of  thirty-three  or  thereabouts,  tall,  well 
formed,  with  bright,  dark  eyes,  strongly-marked  features, 
a  finely- turned  head,  and  closely -cropped  black  hair.  He 
had  what  I  should  call  presence — something  that  impressed 
me,  as  he  entered  the  room,  with  the  idea  of  a  superior  kind 
of  individuality,  though  he  was  simple  in  his  manners, 
with  a  slight  air  of  shyness  and  constraint.  The  blood 
flushed  in  his  cheeks  as  he  was  introduced  to  me,  and  there 
was  a  tremulous  motion  about  his  finely-cut  lips,  betokening 
suppressed  sensitiveness.  The  first  sound  of  his  voice,  as  he 
spoke,  struck  on  my  ear  agreeably,  like  the  tones  of  a  fine 
instrument,  and,  reticent  and  retiring  as  he  seemed,  I  felt 
myself  singularly  attracted  toward  him. 

What  impressed  me  most,  as  he  joined  in  the  conversa- 
tion with  my  rattling,  free  and  easy,  good-natured  neighbor, 
was  an  air  of  patient,  amused  tolerance.  He  struck  me  as 
a  man  who  had  made  up  his  mind  to  expect  nothing  and  ask 
nothing  of  life,  and  who  was  sitting  it  out  patiently,  as  one 
sits  out  a  dull  play  at  the  theater.  He  was  disappointed 
with  nobody,  and  angry  with  nobody,  while  he  seemed  to 
have  no  confidence  in  anybody.  With  all  this  apparent 
reserve,  he  was  simply  and  frankly  cordial  to  me,  as  a  new- 
comer and  n  fellow-worker  011  the  same  paper. 

'"Mr.  Henderson,"  he  said,  "I  shall  be  glad  to  extend  to 
you  the  hospitalities  of  my  den,  such  as  they  are.  If  I  can 


140  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

at  any  time  render  you  any  assistance,  don't  hesitate  to  use 
me.  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  walk  up  and  look  at  my 
books  ?  I  shall  be  only  too  happy  to  put  them  at  your  dis- 
posal." 

We  went  up  into  a  little  attic  room  whose  walls  were  liter- 
ally lined  with  books  on  all  sides,  only  allowing  space  for 
the  two  southerly  windows  which  overlooked  the  city. 

"  I  like  to  be  high  in  the  world,  you  see,"  he  said,  with  a 
smile. 

The  room  was  not  a  large  one,  and  the  center  was  occupied 
by  a  large  table,  covered  with  books  and  papers.  A  cheerful 
coal-fire  was  burning  in  the  little  grate,  a  large  leather  arm- 
chair stood  before  it,  and,  with  one  or  two  other  chairs, 
completed  the  furniture  of  the  apartment.  A  small,  lighted 
closet,  whose  door  stood  open  on  the  room,  displayed  a  pallet 
bed  of  monastic  simplicity. 

There  were  two  occupants  of  the  apartment  who  seemed 
established  there  by  right  of  possession.  A  large  Maltese 
cat,  with  great,  golden  eyes,  like  two  full  moons,  sat  gravely 
looking  into  the  fire,  in  one  corner,  and  a  very  plebeian, 
scrubby  mongrel,  who  appeared  to  have  known  the  hard 
side  of  life  in  former  days,  was  dozing  in  the  other. 

Apparently,  these  genii  loci  were  so  strong  in  their  sense 
of  possession  that  our  entrance  gave  them  no  disturbance. 
The  dog  unclosed  his  eyes  with  a  sleepy  wink  as  we  came 
in,  and  then  shut  them  again,  dreamily,  as  satisfied  that  all 
was  right. 

Bolton  invited  us  to  sit  down,  and  did  the  honors  of  his 
room  with  a  quiet  elegance,  as  if  it  had  been  a  palace  in- 
stead of  an  attic.  As  soon  as  we  were  seated,  the  cat  sprang 
familiarly  on  the  table  and  sat  down  cosily  by  Bolton,  rub- 
bing her  head  against  his  coat-sleeve. 

"  Let  me  introduce  you  to  my  wife,"  said  Bolton,  stroking 
her  head.  "  Eh,  Jenny,  what  now  ?"  he  added,  as  she  seized 
his  hands  playfully  in  her  teeth  and  claws.  "  You  see,  she 
has  the  connubial  weapons,"  he  said,  "  and  insists  on  being 
treated  with  attention ;  but  she's  capital  company.  I  read 


BACHELOR   COMRADES.  Ul 

all  my  articles  to  her,  and  she  never  makes  an  unjust  criti- 
cism." 

Puss  soon  stepped  from  her  perch  on  the  table  and  en- 
sconced herself  in  his  lap,  while  I  went  round  examining 
his  books. 

The  library  showed  varied  and  curious  tastes.  The  books 
were  almost  all  rare. 

"I  have  always  made  a  rule,"  he  said,  "never  to  buy  a 
book  that  I  could  borrow." 

I  was  amused,  in  the  course  of  the  conversation,  at  the 
relations  which  apparently  existed  between  him  and  Jim 
Fellows,  which  appeared  to  me  to  be  very  like  what  might 
be  supposed  to  exist  between  a  philosopher  and  a  lively 
pet  squirrel — it  was  the  perfection  of  quiet,  amused  toler- 
ance. 

Jim  seemed  to  be  not  in  the  slightest  degree  under  con- 
straint in  his  presence,  and  rattled  on  with  a  free  and  easy 
slang  familiarity,  precisely  as  he  had  done  with  me. 

"  What  do  you  think  Old  Soapy  has  engaged  Hal  for  ?" 
he  said.  "  Why,  he  only  offers  him — "  Here  followed  the 
statement  of  terms. 

I  was  annoyed  at  this  matter-of-fact  way  of  handling 
my  private  affairs,  but  on  meeting  the  eyes  of  my  new 
friend  I  discerned  a  glance  of  quiet  humor  which  re-assured 
me.  He  seemed  to  regard  Jim  only  as  another  form  of  the 
inevitable. 

"  Don't  you  think  it  is  a  confounded  take-in  ?"  said  Jim. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Mr.  Bolton,  with  a  smile,  "but  he  will 
survive  it.  The  place  is  only  one  of  the  stepping-stones. 
Meanwhile,"  he  said,  "I  think  Mr.  Henderson  can  find  other 
markets  for  his  literary  wares  and  more  profitable  ones. 
I  think,"  he  added,  while  the  blood  again  rose  in  his  cheeks, 
"that  I  have  some  influence  in  certain  literary  quarters, 
and  I  shall  be  happy  to  do  all  that  I  can  to  secure  to  him 
that  which  he  ought  to  receive  for  such  careful  work  as 
this.  Your  labor  on  the  paper  will  not  by  any  means  take 
np  your  whole  power  or  time." 


142  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

11  Well,"  said  Jim,  "the  fact  is  the  same  all  the  world  over 
—the  people  that  grow  a  thing  are  those  that  get  the 
least  for  it.  It  isn't  your  farmers,  that  work  early  and  late, 
that  get  rich  by  what  they  raise  out  of  the  earth,  it's  the 
middlemen  and  the  hucksters.  And  just  so  it  is  in  litera- 
ture ;  and  the  better  a  fellow  writes,  and  the  more  work  he 
puts  into  it,  the  less  he  gets  paid  for  it.  Why,  now,  look 
at  me,"  he  said,  "perching  himself  astride  the  arm  of  a 
chair,  "I'm  a  genuine  literary  humbug,  but  I'll  bet  you 
I'll  make  more  money  than  either  of  you,  because,  you  see, 
I've  no  modesty  and  no  conscience.  Confound  it  all,  those 
are  luxuries  that  a  poor  fellow  can't  afford  to  keep.  I'm 
a  sounding  brass  and  a  tinkling  cymbal,  but  I'm  just  the  sort 
of  fellow  the  world  wants,  and,  hang  it,  they  shall  pay 
me  for  being  that  sort  of  fellow.  I  mean  to  make  it  shell 
out,  and  you  see  if  I  don't.  I'll  bet  you,  now,  that  I'd  write 
a  book  that  you  wouldn't,  either  of  you,  be  hired  to  write, 
and  sell  one  hundred  thousand  copies  of  it,  and  put  the 
money  in  my  pocket,  marry  the  handsomest,  richest,  and 
best  educated  girl  in  New  York,  while  you  are  trudging  on, 
doing  good,  careful  work,  as  you  call  it." 

"  Remember  us  in  your  will,"  said  I. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  will,"  he  said.  "  I'll  found  an  asylumf  or  decayed 
authors  of  merit — a  sort  of  literary  '  Hotel  des  Invalides.' " 

We  had  a  hearty  laugh  over  this  idea,  and,  on  the  whole, 
our  evening  passed  off  very  merrily.  When  I  shook  hands 
with  Bolton  for  the  night,  it  was  with  a  silent  conviction  of 
an  interior  affinity  between  us. 

It  is  a  charming  thing  in  one's  rambles  to  come  across  a 
tree,  or  a  flower,  or  a  fine  bit  of  landscape  that  one  can 
think  of  afterward,  and  feel  richer  for  their  its  in  the 
world.  But  it  is  more  when  one  is  in  a  strange  place,  to 
come  across  a  man  that  you  feel  thoroughly  persuaded  is, 
somehow  or  other,  morally  and  intellectually  worth  explor- 
ing. Our  lives  tend  to  become  so  hopelessly  commonplace, 
and  the  human  beings  we  meet  are  generally  so  much  one 
just  like  another,  that  the  possibility  of  a  new  and  peculiar 


BACHELOR   COMRADES.  J43 

style  of  character  in  an  acquaintance  is  a  most  enlivening 
one. 

There  was  something  about  Bolton  both  stimulating  and 
winning,  and  I  lay  down  less  a  stranger  that  night  than  I 
had  been  since  I  came  to  New  York. 


144  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 


CHAPTER     XIY. 

HAPS  AND  MISHAPS. 

ENTERED  upon  my  new  duties  with  enthusiasm, 
and  produced  some  editorials,  for  which  I  was 
complimented  by  Mr.  Groldstick. 

"  That's  the  kind  of  thing  wanted !"  he  said ;  "  a  firm,  moral 
tone,  and  steady  religious  convictions ;  that  pleases  the  old 
standards." 

Emboldened  by  this  I  proceeded  to  attack  a  specific  abuse 
in  New  York  administration,  which  had  struck  me  as  needing 
to  be  at  once  righted.  If  ever  a  moral  trumpet  ought  to  have 
its  voice,  it  was  on  this  subject.  I  read  my  article  to  Bolton ; 
in  fact  I  had  gradually  fallen  into  the  habit  of  referring  my- 
self to  his  judgment. 

"It  is  all  perfectly  true,"  he  remarked,  when  I  had  fin- 
ished, while  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  stroked  his  cat, 
"but  they  never  will  put  that  into  the  paper,  in  the  world." 

"Why !"  said  I,  " if  ever  there  was  an  abuse  that  required 
exposing,  it  is  this." 

"Precisely !"  he  replied. 

"And  what  is  the  use,"  I  went  on,  "of  general  moral 
preaching  that  is  never  applied  to  any  particular  case?" 

"The  use,"  he  replied  calmly,  "is  that  that  kind  of  preach- 
ing pleases  everybody,  and  increases  subscribers,  while  the 
other  kind  makes  enemies,  and  decreases  them." 

"  And  you  really  think  that  they  won't  put  this  article  in  ?' 
said  I. 

"I'm  certain  they  won't,"  he  replied.  "The  fact  is  this  paper 
is  bought  up  on  the  other  side.  Messrs.  Goldstick  and  Co. 
have  intimate  connection  with  Messrs.  Bunkam  and  Chaf- 
fem,  who  are  part  and  parcel  of  this  very  afiair." 


HAPS  AND  MISHAPS.  145 

I  opened  my  mouth  with  astonishment.  "Then  Goldstick 
is  a  hypocrite,"  I  said. 

"  Not  consciously,"  he  answered,  calmly. 

"Why!"  said  I,  "you  would  have  thought  by  the  way  he 
talked  to  me  that  he  had  nothing  so  much  at  heart  as  the 
moral  progress  of  society,  and  was  ready  to  sacrifice  every- 
thing to  it." 

"Well,''  said  Bolton,  quietly,  "did  you  never  see  a  woman 
who  thought  she  was  handsome,  when  she  was  not  1?  Did 
you  never  see  a  man  who  thought  he  was  witty,  when  he 
was  only  scurrilous  and  impudent  f  Did  you  never  see  peo- 
ple who  flattered  themselves  they  were  frank,  because  they 
were  obtuse  and  impertinent?  And  cannot  you  imagine 
that  a  man  may  think  himself  a  philanthropist,  when  he  is 
only  a  worshiper  of  the  golden  calf  1  That  same  calf,"  he 
continued,  stroking  his  cat  till  she  purred  aloud,  "  has  the 
largest  Church  of  any  on  earth." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  at  any  rate  I'll  hand  it  in." 

"You  can  do  so,"  he  replied,  "and  that  will  be  the  last 
you  will  hear  of  it.  You  see,  I've  been  this  way  before  you, 
and  I  have  learned  to  save  myself  time  and  trouble  on  these 
subjects." 

The  result  was  precisely  as  Bolton  predicted. 

"  We  must  be  a  little  careful,  my  young  friend,"  said  Mr. 
Goldstick,  "how  we  handle  specific  matters  of  this  kind; 
they  have  extended  relations  that  a  young  man  cannot  be 
expected  to  appreciate,  and  I  would  advise  you  to  confine 
yourself  to  abstract  moral  principles ;  keep  up  a  high  moral 
standard,  sir,  and  things  will  come  right  of  themselves. 
Now,  sir,  if  you  could  expose  the  corruptions  in  England  it 
would  have  an  admirable  moral  effect,  and  our  general  line 
of  policy  now  is  down  on  England." 

A  day  or  two  after,  however,  I  fell  into  serious  disgrace. 
A  part  of  my  duties  consisted  in  reviewing  the  current  litera- 
ture of  the  day ;  Bolton,  Jim,  and  I,  took  that  department 
among  us,  and  I  soon  learned  to  sympathize  with  the  tea- 
tasters,  who  are  said  to  ruin  their  digestion  by  an  incessant 


146  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

tasting  of  the  different  qualities  of  tea.  The  enormous 
quantity  and  variety  of  magazines  and  books  that  I  had  to 
"  sample"  in  a  few  days  brought  me  into  such  a  state  of 
mental  dyspepsia,  that  I  began  to  wish  every  book  in  the 
Bed  Sea.  I  really  was  brought  to  consider  the  usual  pleas 
ant  tone  of  book  notices  in  America  to  be  evidence  of  a 
high  degree  of  Christian  forbearance.  In  looking  over  my 
share,  however,  I  fell  upon  a  novel  of  the  modern,  hot,  sen- 
suous school,  in  which  glowing  coloring  and  a  sort  of  re- 
ligious sentimentalism  were  thrown  around  actions  and  prin- 
ciples which  tended  directly  to  the  dissolution  of  society. 
Here  was  exactly  the  opportunity  to  stem  that  tide  of  cor- 
ruption against  which  Mr.  Goldstick  so  solemnly  had  warned 
me.  I  made  the  analysis  of  the  book  a  text  for  exposing 
the  whole  class  of  principles  and  practices  it  inculcated,  and 
uttering  my  warning  against  corrupt  literature ;  I  sent  it 
to  .the  paper,  and  in  it  went.  A  day  or  two  after  Mr.  Gold- 
stick  came  into  the  office  in  great  disorder,  with  an  open 
letter  in  his  hand. 

"What's  all  this  ?"  he  said ;  "here's  Sillery  and  Peacham, 
blowing  us  up  for  being  down  on  their  books,  and  threat- 
ening to  take  away  their  advertising  from  us." 

Nobody  seemed  to  know  anything  about  it,  till  finally  the 
matter  was  traced  back  to  me. 

"  It  was  a  corrupt  book,  Mr.  Goldstick,"  said  I,  with 
firmness,  "and  the  very  object  you  stated  to  me  was  to 
establish  a  just  moral  criticism." 

"Go  to  thunder!  young  man,"  said  Mr.  Goldstick,  in  a 
tone  I  had  never  heard  before.  "Have  you  no  discrimina- 
tion ?  are  you  going  to  blow  us  up  1  The  Great  Democracy, 
sir,  is  a  great  moral  engine,  and  the  advertising  of  this 
publishing  house  gives  thousands  of  dollars  yearly  towards 
its  support.  It's  an  understood  thing  that  Sillery  and 
Peacham's  books  are  to  be  treated  handsomely." 

"I  say,  Captain,"  said  Jim,  who  came  up  behind  us  at  this 
time,  "let  me  manage  this  matter;  I'll  straighten  it  out;  Sil- 
lery and  Peacham  know  me,  and  I'll  fix  it  with  them." 


HAPS  AND  MISHAPS.  147 

"Come!  Hal,  my  boy!"  ha  said,  hooking  me  by  the  arm, 
arid  leading  me  out. 

We  walked  to  our  lodgings  together.  I  was  gloriously 
indignant  all  the  way,  but  Jim  laughed  till  the  tears  rolled 
down  his  cheeks. 

"You  sweet  babe  of  Eden,"  said  he,  as  we  entered  my 
room,  "do  get  quiet !  I'll  sit  right  down  and  write  a  letter 
from  the  Boston  correspondent  on  that  book,  saying  that 
your  article  has  created  a  most  immense  sensation  in  the 
literary  circles  of  Boston,  in  regard  to  its  moral  character, 
and  exhort  everybody  to  rush  to  the  book-store  and  see  for 
themselves.  Now,  'hush,  my  dear,  lie  still  and  slumber,' 
while  I  do  it." 

"  Why,  do  you  mean  to  go  to  Boston  ?"  said  I. 

"Only  in  spirit,  my  dear.  Bless  you!  did  you  suppose 
that  the  Boston  correspondents,  or  any  other  correspondents, 
are  there,  or  anywhere  else  in  fact,  that  they  profess  to  be  ? 
I  told  you  that  I  was  the  professor  of  humbug.  This  little 
affair  lies  strictly  in  my  department." 

"Jim!"  said  I,  solemnly,  "I  don't  want  to  be  in  such  a 
network  of  chicanery." 

"Oh,  come,  Hal,  nobody  else  wants  to  be  just  where  they 
are,  and  after  all,  it's  none  of  your  business ;  you  and  Bolton 
arc  great  moral  forty-pounders.  When  we  get  you  pointed 
the  right  way  for  the  paper  you  can  roar  and  fire  away  at 
your  leisure,  and  the  moral  effect  will  be  prodigious.  I'm 
your  flying-artillery — all  over  the  field  everywhere,  pop,  and 
off  again ;  and  what  is  it  to  you  what  I  do  ?  Now  you  see, 
Hal,  you  must  just  have  some  general  lines  about  your 
work ;  the  fact  is,  I  ought  to  have  told  you  before.  There's 
Sillery  and  Peacham's  books  have  got  to  be  put  straight 
along :  you  see  there  is  no  mistake  about  that ;  and  when  you 
and  Bolton  find  one  you  can't  praise  honestly,  turn  it  over 
to  me.  Then,  again,  there's  Burill  and  Bangem's  books 
have  got  to  be  put  down.  They  had  a  row  with  us  last 
year,  and  turned  over  their  advertising  to  the  Spouting 
Horn.  Now,  if  you  happen  to  find  a  bad  novel  among  their 


148  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

books  show  it  up,  cut  into  it  without  mercy ;  it  will  give  you 
just  as  good  a  chance  to  preach,  with  your  muzzle  pointed 
the  right  way,  and  do  exactly  as  much  good.  You  see  there's 
everything  with  you  fellows  in  getting  you  pointed  right." 

"But,"  said  I,  "Jim,  this  course  is  utterly  subversive  of 
all  just  criticism.  It  makes  book  notices  good  for  nothing." 

"Well,  they  are  not  good  for  much,"  said  Jim  reflect- 
ively. "  I  sometimes  pity  a  poor  devil  whose  first  book  has 
been  all  cut  up,  just  because  Goldstick's  had  a  row  with  his 
publishers.  But  then  there's  this  comfort — what  we  run 
down,  the  Spouting  Horn  will  run  up,  so  it  is  about  as  broad 
as  it  is  long.  Then  there 's  our  Magazines.  We're  in  with 
the  Eocky  Mountains  now — we've  been  out  with  them  for  a 
a  year  or  two  and  cut  up  all  their  articles.  Now  you  see  we 
are  in,  and  the  rule  is,  to  begin  at  the  beginning  and  praise 
them  all  straight  through,  so  you'll  have  plain  sailing  there. 
Then  there's  the  Pacific — you  are  to  pick  on  that  all  you 
can.  I  think  you  had  better  leave  that  to  me.  I  have  a 
talent  for  saying  little  provoking  things  that  gall  people, 
and  that  they  can't  answer.  The  fact  is,  the  Pacific  has  got 
to  come  down  a  little,  and  come  to  our  terms,  before  we  are 
civil  to  it." 

"  Jim  Fellows  "—I  began, 

"  Come,  come,  go  and  let  off  to  Bolton,  if  you  have  got 
anything  more  to  say;"  he  added,  "1  want  to  write  my 
Boston  letter.  You  see,  Hal,  I  shall  bring  you  out  with 
flying  colors,  and  get  a  better  sale  for  the  book  than  if  you 
hadn't  written. 

"Jim,"  said  I,  "  I'm  going  to  get  out  of  this  paper." 

"  And  pray,  my  dear  Sir,  what  will  you  get  into  ?" 

"I'll  get  into  one  of  the  religious  papers.'' 

Jim  upon  this  leaned  back,  kicked  up  his  heels,  and 
laughed  aloud.  "  I  could  help  you  there,"  he  said.  "  I  do 
the  literary  for  three  religious  newspapers  now.  These 
solemn  old  Dons  are  so  busy  about  their  tweedle-dums  and 
tweedle-dees  of  justification  and  election,  baptism  and 
church  government,  that  they  don't  know  anything  about 


HAPS  AND  MISHAPS.  H9 

current  literature,  and  get  us  fellows  to  write  their  book 
notices.  I  rather  think  that  they'd  stare  if  they  should  read 
some  of  the  books  that  we  puff  up.  I  tell  you,  Christy's 
Minstrels  are  nothing  to  it.  Think  of  it,  Hal,— the  solemn 
Holy  Sentinel  with  a  laudatory  criticism  of  Dante  Rosetti's 
"Jenny"  in  it — and  the  trumpet  of  Zlon  with  a  commenda- 
tory notice  of  Georges  Sand's  novels."  Here  Jim  laughed 
with  a  fresh  impulse.  "  You  see  the  dear,  good  souls  are 
altogether  too  pious  to  know  anything  about  it,  and  so  we 
liberalize  the  papers,  and  the  publishers  make  us  a  little 
consideration  for  getting  their  books  started  in  religious 
circles." 

"  Well,  Jim,"  said  I,  "  I  want  to  just  ask  you,  do  you  think 
this  sort  of  thing  is  right  f " 

'•Bless  your  soul  now!"  said  Jim,  "if  you  are  going  to 
begin  with  that,  here  in  New  York,  where  are  you  going  to 
end—'  Where  do  you  'spect  to  die  when  you  go  to1?' — as  the 
old  darkey  said." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  would  you  like  to  have  Dante  Rosetti's 
"Jenny"  put  into  the  hands  of  your  sister  or  younger  brother, 
recommended  by  a  religious  newspaper?" 

"  Well,  to  tell  the  truth,  Hal,  I  didn't  write  those  notices. 
Bill  Jones  wrote  them.  Bill's  up  to  anything.  You  know 
every  person  in  England  and  this  country  have  praised 
Dante  Rosetti,  and  particularly  "Jenny,"  and  religious  papers 
m  ay  as  well  be  out  of  the  world  as  out  of  fashion, — find  so 
mother  she  bought  a  copy  for  a  Christmas  present  to  sister 
Nell.  And  I  tell  you  if  I  didn't  get  a  going  over  about  it !" 

"  I  showed  her  the  article  in  the  Holy  Sentinel,  but  it  didn't 
do  a  bit  of  good.  She  made  me  promise  I  wouldn't  write  it 
up,  and  I  never  have.  She  said  it  was  a  shame.  You  see 
mother  isn't  up  to  the  talk  about  high  art,  that's  got  up 
now  a  days  about  Dante  Rosetti  and  Swinburne,  and  those. 
I  thought  myself  that  "Jenny"  was  coming  it  pretty  strong,— 
and  honest  now,  I  never  could  see  the  sense  in  it.  But  then 
you  see  I  am  not  artistic.  If  a  fellow  should  tell  a  story  of 
that  kind  to  my  sister,  I  should  horsewhip  him,  and  kick 


150  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

him  down  the  front  steps.  But  he  dresses  it  up  in  poetry, 
and  it  lies  around  on  pious  people's  tables,  and  nobody  dares 
to  say  a  word  because  it's  "artistic."  People  are  so  afraid 
they  shall  not  be  supposed  to  understand  what  high  art  is, 
that  they'll  knuckle  down  under  most  anything.  That's  the 
kind  of  world  we  live  in.  Well !  I  didn't  make  the  world 
and  I  don't  govern  it.  But  the  world  owes  me  a  living,  and 
hang  it !  it  shall  give  me  one.  So  you  go  up  to  Bolton,  and 
leave  me  to  do  my  woik ;  I've  got  to  write  columns,  and  then 
tramp  out  to  that  confounded  water-color  exhibition,  be- 
cause I  promised  Snooks  a  puff,— I  shan't  get  to  bed  till 
twelve  or  one.  I  tell  you  it's  steep  on  a  fellow  now." 

I  went  up  to  Bolton,  boiling,  and  bubbling  and  seething, 
with  the  spirit  of  sixteen  reformers  in  my  veins.  The 
scene,  as  I  opened  the  door,  was  sufficiently  tranquilizing. 
Bolton  sat  reading  by  the  side  of  his  shaded  study-lamp, 
with  his  cat  asleep  in  his  lap ;  the  ill-favored  dog,  before 
mentioned,  was  planted  by  Ms  side,  with  his  nose  upturned, 
surveying  him  with  a  fullness  of  doggish  adoration  and 
complacency,  which  made  his  rubbishly  shop-worn  figure 
quite  an  affecting  item  in  the  picture.  Crouched  down  on 
the  floor  in  the  corner,  was  a  ragged,  unkempt,  freckled- 
faced  little  boy,  busy  doing  a  sum  on  a  slate. 

"Ah!  old  fellow,"  he  said,  as  he  looked  up  and  saw  me. 
"  Come  in ;  there,  there,  Snubby,"  he  said  to  the  dog,  pushing 
him  gently  into  his  corner;  "let  the  gentleman  sit  down. 
You  see  you  find  me  surrounded  by  my  family,"  he  said. 
"Wait  one  minute,"  he  added,  turning  to  the  boy  in  the 
corner,  and  taking  his  slate  out  of  his  hand,  and  running 
over  the  sum.  "All  right,  Bill.  Now  here's  your  book." 
He  took  a  volume  of  the  Arabian  Nights  from  the  table,  and 
handed  it  to  him,  and  Bill  settled  himself  on  the  floor,  and 
was  soon  lost  in  "  Sinbad  the  Sailor."  He  watched  him  a 
minute  or  two,  and  then  looked  round  at  me,  with  a  smile. 
"  I  wouldn't  be  afraid  to  bet  that  you  might  shout  in  that 
fellow's  ear  and  he  wouldn't  hear  you,  now  he  is  fairly  in 
upon  that  book.  Isn't  it  worth  while  to  be  able  to  give  such 


HAPS  AND  MISHAPS.  151 

perfect  bliss  in  this  world  at  so  small  an  expense  ?    I've  lost 
the  power  of  reading  the  Arabian  Nights,  but  I  comfort  my- 
self in  seeing  this  chap." 

"Who  is  he?"  said  I. 

"Oh,  he's  my  washerwoman's  boy.  Poor  fellow.  He  has 
hard  times.  I've  set  him  up  in  selling  newspapers.  You 
sec,  I  try  now  and  then  to  pick  up  one  grain  out  of  the  heap 
of  misery,  and  put  it  into  the  heap  of  happiness,  as  John 
Newton  said." 

I  was  still  bubbling  with  the  unrest  of  my  spirit,  and 
finally  overflowed  upon  him  with  the  whole  history  of  my 
day's  misadventures,  and  all  the  troubled  thoughts  and 
burning  indignations  that  I  had  with  reference  to  it. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  he  said,  "take  it  easy.  We  have  to 
accept  this  world  as  a  fait  accompli.  It  takes  some  time 
for  us  to  leam  how  little  we  can  do  to  help  or  to  hinder. 
You  cannot  take  a  step  in  the  business  of  life  anywhere 
without  meeting  just  this  kind  of  thing ;  and  one  part  of 
the  science  of  living  is  to  learn  just  what  our  own  respon- 
sibility is,  and  to  let  other  people's  alone.  The  fact  is,"  he 
said,  "the  growth  of  current  literature  in  our  times  has 
been  so  sudden  and  so  enormous  that  things  are  in  a 
sort  of  revolutionary  state  with  regard  to  it,  in  which  it 
is  very  difficult  to  ascertain  the  exact  right.  For  example, 
I  am  connected  with  a  paper  which  is  simply  and  purely,  at 
bottom,  a  financial  speculation  ;  its  owners  must  make 
money.  Now,  they  are  not  bad  men  as  the  world  goes — 
tliey  are  well-meaning  men — amiable,  patriotic,  philan- 
thropic— some  of  them  are  religious;  they,  all  of  them, 
would  rather  virtue  would  prevail  than  vice,  and  good 
than  evil ;  they,  all  of  them,  would  desire  every  kind  of 
abuse  to  be  reformed,  and  every  good  cause  to  be  for- 
warded, that  could  be  forwarded  without  a  sacrifice  of  their 
main  object.  As  for  me,  I  am  not  a  holder  or  proprietor. 
I  am  simply  a  servant  engaged  by  these  people  for  a  certain 
sum.  If  I  should  sell  myself  to  say  what  I  do  not  think,  or 


152  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

to  praise  what  I  consider  harmful,  to  propitiate  their  favor, 
I  should  be  a  dastard.  They  understand  perfectly  that  I 
never  do  it,  and  they  never  ask  me  to.  Meanwhile,  they 
employ  persons  who  will  do  these  things.  I  am  not  respon- 
sible for  it  any  more  than  I  am  for  anything  else  which  goes 
on  in  the  city  of  New  York.  I  am  allowed  my  choice 
among  notices,  and  I  never  write  them  without  saying,  to 
the  best  of  my  ability,  the  exact  truth,  whether  literary 
or  in  a  moral  point  of  view.  Xow,  that  is  just  my  stand, 
and  if  it  satisfies  you,  you  can  take  tbe  same." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  It  makes  me  indignant,  to  have  Goldstick 
talk  to  me  as  he  did  about  a  great  self-denying  moral  enter- 
prise— why,  that  man  must  know  he's  a  liar." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?"  said  he.  "  I  don't  imagine  he  does. 
Goldstick  has  considerable  sentiment.  It's  quite  easy  to 
get  him  excited  on  moral  subiects,  and  he  dearly  loves  to 
hear  himself  talk—he  is  sincerely  interested  in  a  good  num- 
ber of  moral  reforms,  so  long  as  they  cost  him  nothing  ; 
and  when  a  man  is  working  his  good  faculties,  he  13  gen- 
erally delighted  with  himself,  and  it  is  the  most  natural 
thing  in  the  world,  to  think  that  there  is  more  of  him 
than  there  is.  I  am  often  put  in  mind  of  that  enthu- 
siastic young  ruler  that  came  to  the  Saviour,  who  had 
kept  all  the  commandments,  and  seemed  determined  to  be 
on  the  high  road  to  saintship.  The  Saviour  just  touched 
him  on  this  financial  question,  and  he  wilted  in  a  minute. 
I  consider  that  to  be  still  the  test  question,  and  there  are  a 
good  many  young  rulers  like  him,  who  donH  keep  all  the 
commandments." 

"Your  way  of  talking,"  said  I,  "seems  to  do  away  with 
all  moral  indignation." 

He  smiled,  and  then  looked  sadly  into  the  fire — "  G  od  help 
us  all,"  he  said.  "  We  are  all  struggling  in  the  water  to- 
gether and  pulling  one  another  under — our  best  virtues  are 
such  a  miserable  muddle— and  then— there's  the  beam  in 
our  own  eye." 


HAPS  AND  MISHAPS.  153 

There  was  a  depth  of  pathos  in  his  dark  eyes  as  he  spoke, 
and  suddenly  a  smile  flashed  over  his  features,  and  look- 
ing around,  he  said — 

"  So,  what  do  you  think  of  that,  my  cat, 
And  what  do  you  think  of  that,  my  dojf." 


154  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

I  MEET  A  VISION. 

SAY,  Hal,  <lo  you  want  to  get  acquainted  with 
any  of  the  P.  Gr.'s  here  in  New  York?  If  you 
do,  I  can  put  you  on  the  track." 

"P.  G.'sf  said  I,  innocently. 

"Yes;  you  know  that's  what  Plato  calls  pretty  girls.  I 
don't  believe  you  remember  your  Greek.  I'm  going  out  this 
evening  where  there's  a  lot  of  'em— splendid  house  on  Fifth 
avenue — lots  of  tin — girls  gracious.  Don't  know  which  of 
'em.  I  shall  take  yet.  Don't  you  want  to  go  with  me  and 
see?" 

Jim  stood  at  the  looking-glass  brushing  Ms*  hair  and  ar- 
ranging his  necktie. 

"  Jim  Fellows,  you  are  a  coxcomb,"  said  I. 

"I  don't  know  why  I  shouldn't  be,"  said  he.  "The  girls 
fairly  throw  themselves  at  one's  head.  They  are  up  to  all 
that  sort  of  thing.  Besides,  I'm  on  the  lookout  for  my  for- 
tune, and  it  all  comes  in  the  way  of  business.  Come,  now, 
don't  sit  there  writing  all  the  evening.  Come  out,  and  let 
me  show  you  New  York  by  gaslight." 

"  No,"  said  I ;  "  I've  got  to  finish  up  this  article  for  the 
Milky  Way.  The  fact  is,  a  fellow  must  be  industrious  to 
make  anything,  and  my  time  for  seeing  girls  isn't  come  yet. 
I  must  have  something  to  support  a  wife  on  before  I  look 
round  in  that  direction." 

"The  idea,  Harry,  of  a  good-looking  fellow  like  you,  not 
making  the  most  of  his  advantages  !  Why,  there  are  nice 
girls  in  this  city  that  could  help  you  up  faster  than  all  the 
writing  you  can  do  these  ten  years.  And  you  sitting,  moiling 
and  toiling,  when  you  ought  to  be  making  some  lovely 
woman  happy!" 


I  MEET  A   VISION.  155 

"I  shall  never  marry  for  money,  Jim,  you  may  depend 
upon  ihat." 

"Bah,  bah,  black  sheep,"  said  Jim.  "Who  is  talking 
about  marrying-  for  money?  A  fine  girl  is  none  the  worse 
for  fifty  thousand  dollars,  and  I  can  give  you  a  list  of 
twenty  that  you  can  go  round  among  until  you  fall  in  love, 
and  not  come  amiss  anywhere,  if  it's  falling  in  love  that 
you  want  to  do."  ' 

"  Oh,  conic,  Jim,"  said  I,  "  do  finish  your  toilet  and  be  off 
with  yourself  if  you  are  going.  I  don't  blame  a  woman  who 
marries  for  money,  since  the  whole  world  has  always  agreed 
to  shut  her  out  of  any  other  way  of  gaining  an  independence. 
But  for  a  man,  with  every  other  avenue  open  to  him,  to 
mouse  about  for  a  rich  wife,  I  think  is  too  dastardly  for 
anything." 

"That  would  make  a  fine  point  for  a  paragraph,"  said  Jim, 
turning  round  to  me,  with  perfect  good  humor.  "  So  I  advise 
you  to  save  it  for  the  moral  part  of  the  paper.  You  see,  if 
you  waste  too  much  of  that  sort  of  thing  on  me,  your  mill 
may  run  low.  It's  a  deuced  hard  thing  to  keep  the  moral 
agoing  the  whole  year,  you'll  find." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  I  am  going  to  try  to  make  a  home  for  a 
wife,  by  good,  thorough  work,  done  just  as  work  ought  to  be 
done ;  and  I  have  no  time  to  waste  on  society  in  the  mean- 
while." 

"  And  when  you  are  ready  for  her,"  said  Jim,  "I  suppose 
you  expect  to  receive  her  per  'Divine  Providence'  Express, 
ticketed  and  labeled,  and  expenses  paid.  Or,  may  be  she'll 
be  brought  to  you  some  time  by  genii,  as  the  Princess  of 
China  was  brought  to  the  Prince  of  Tartary,  when  he  was 
asleep.  I  used  to  read  about  that  in  the  Arabian  tales." 

I  give  this  little  passage  of  my  conversation  with  Jim,  be- 
cause it  is  a.  pretty  good  illustration  of  the  axiom,  that  "  It 
is  not  in  man  that  walketh  to  direct  his  steps."  When  we 
have  announced  any  settled  purpose  or  sublime  intention, 
in  regard  to  our  future  course  of  life,  it  seems  to  be  the 
delight  of  fortune  to  throw  us  directly  into  circumstances  in 


156  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

which  we  shall  be  tempted  to  do  what  we  have  just  declared 
we  never  will  do,  and  the  fortunes  of  our  lives  turn  upon 
the  mcst  inconsiderable  hinges. 

Mine  turned  upon  an  umbrella. 

The  next  morning  I  had  business  in  the  very  lowermost 
part  of  the  city,  and  started  off  without  my  umbrella;  but 
being  weather-wise,  and  discerning  the  face  of  the  sky, 
I  went  back  to  my  room  and  took  it.  It  was  one  of  those 
little  pot  objects  of  vertu,  to  which  a  bachelor  sometimes 
treats  himself  in  lieu  of  domestic  luxuries.  It  had  a  finely- 
carved  handle,  which  I  bought  in  Dieppe,  and  which  caused 
it  to  be  peculiar  among  all  the  umbrellas  in  New  York. 

It  was  one  of  those  uncertain,  capricious  days  that  mark 
the  coming  in  of  April,  when  Nature,  like  a  nervous  beauty, 
doesn't  seem  to  know  her  own  mind,  and  laughs  one  mo- 
ment and  cries  the  next  with  a  perplexing  uncertainty. 

The  first  part  of  the  morning  the  amiable  and  smiling 
predominated,  and  I  began  to  regret  that  I  had  encumbered 
myself  with  the  troublesome  precaution  of  an  umbrella 
while  tramping  around  down  town.  In  this  mood  of  mind 
I  sat  at  Fulton  Ferry  waiting  the  starting  of  the  Bleeck- 
er  street  car,  when  suddenly  the  scene  was  enlivened 
to  my  view  by  the  entrance  of  a  young  lady,  who  happened 
to  seat  herself  exactly  opposite  to  me. 

Now,  as  a  writer,  an  observer  of  life  and  manners,  I 
had  often  made  quiet  studies  of  the  fair  flowers  of  mod- 
ern New  York  society  as  I  rode  up  and  down  in  the  cars. 
In  no  other  country  in  the  world,  perhaps,  has  a  man  the 
opportunity  of  being  vis-a-vis  with  the  best  and  most  cul- 
tured class  of  young  women  in  the  public  conveyances.  In 
England,  this  class  are  veiled  and  secluded  from  gaze  by 
all  the  ordinances  and  arrangements  of  society.  They  go 
out  only  in  their  own  carriage ;  they  travel  in  reserved 
compartments  of  the  railway  carriages;  they  pass  from 
these  to  reserved  apartments  in  the  hotels,  where  they  are 
served  apart  in  family  privacy  as  much  as  in  their  own 
dwellings.  So  that  the  stranger  traveling  in  the  coun- 
try, unless  he  havo  introductions  to  the  personal  hospi- 


1  MEET  A  VISION.  357 

tality  of  these  circles,  has  almost  no  way  of  forming  any 
opinion  even  as  to  the  external  appearance  of  its  younger 
women.  In  France,  a  still  stricter  rfyime  watches  over  the 
young,  unmarried  girl,  who  is  kept  in  the  shade  of  an  almost 
conventual  seclusion  till  marriage  opens  the  doors  of  her 
pnson.  The  young  American  girl,  however,  of  the  better 
and  of  the  best  classes,  is  to  be  met  and  observed  every- 
where. She  moves  through  life  with  the  assured  step  of  a 
princess,  too  certain  of  her  position  and  familiar  with  her 
power  even  to  dream  of  a  fear.  She  looks  on  her  surround- 
ings from  above  with  the  eye  of  a  mistress,  and  expects,  of 
course,  to  see  all  things  give  way  before  her,  as  in  our  repub- 
lican society  they  generally  do. 

During  the  few  months  I  had  spent  in  New  York  I  had 
diligently  kept  out  of  society.  The  permitted  silent  ac- 
quaintance with  my  fair  countrywomen  which  I  gained 
while  riding  up  and  down  the  street  conveyances,  became, 
therefore,  a  favorite  and  harmless  source  of  amusement. 
Not  an  item  in  the  study  escaped  me,  not  a  feather  in  that 
rustling  and  wonderful  plumage  of  fashion  that  bore  them 
up,  was  unnoted.  I  mused  on  styles,  and  characteristics, 
and  silently  wove  in  my  own  mind  histories  to  correspond 
with  the  various  physiognomies  I  studied.  Let  not  the 
reader  imagine  me  staring  point  blank,  with  my  mouth 
open,  at  all  1  met.  The  art  of  noting  without  appearing  to 
note,  of  seeing  without  seeming  to  see,  was  one  that  I  culti- 
vated with  assiduity. 

Therefore,  without  any  impertinent  scrutiny,  sa  sfied 
myself  of  the  fact  that  a  feminine  presence  of  an  unusual 
kind  and  quality  was  opposite  to  me.  It  was,  at  first  glance, 
one  of  the  New  York  princesses  of  the  blood,  accustomed  to 
treading  on  clouds  and  breathing  incense.  There  was  a 
quiet  savoirfaire  and  self -possession  as  she  sat  down  on  her 
seat,  as  if  it  were  a  throne  ;  and  there  was  a  species  of  re- 
pressed vitality  and  decision  in  all  her  little  involuntary 
movements  that  interested  ni3  as  live  things  always  do 
interest,  in  proportion  to  their  quantum  of  life.  We  all  are 
familiar  with  the  fact  that  there  are  some  people,  who,  let 


158  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

them  sit  still  as  they  may,  and  conduct  themselves  never  so 
quietly,  nevertheless  impress  their  personality  on  those 
around  them,  and  make  their  presence  felt.  An  attraction 
of  this  sort  drew  my  eyes  toward  my  neighbor.  She  was  a 
young  lady  of  medium  height,  slender  and  elastic  figure, 
features  less  regularly  beautiful  than  piquant  and  express- 
ive. I  remarked  a  pair  of  fine  dark  eyes  the  more  from  the 
contrast  with  a  golden  crepe  of  hair.  The  combination  of 
dark  eyes  and  lashes  with  fair  hair,  always  produces  effect 
of  a  striking  character.  She  was  attired  as  became  a 
Fifth  Avenue  princess,  who  has  the  world  of  fashion  at  her 
feet, — yet,  to  my  thinking,  as  one  who  had  chosen  and 
adapted  her  material  with  an  eye  of  taste.  A  delicate 
cashmere  was  folded  carelessly  round  her  shoulders,  and 
her  little  hands  were  gloved  with  a  careful  nicety  of  fit; 
and  dangling  from  one  finger  was  a  toy  purse  of  gold  and 
pearl,  in  which  she  began  searching  for  the  change  to  pay 
her  fare.  I  saw,  too,  as  she  investigated,  an  expression  of 
perplexity,  slightly  tinged  with  the  ludicrous,  upon  her  face. 
1  perceived  at  a  glance  the  matter.  She  was  surveying  a 
ten-dollar  note  with  a  glance  of  amused  vexation,  and  vainly 
turning  over  her  little  purse  for  the  smaller  change  or 
tickets  available  in  the  situation.  I  leaned  forward  and 
offered,  as  gentlemen  generally  do,  to  take  her  fare  and 
pass  it  forward.  With  a  smile  of  apology  she  handed  me 
the  bill,  and  showed  the  little  empty  purse.  "Allow  me 
to  arrange  it,"  I  said.  She  smiled  and  blushed.  I  passed  up 
the  ticket  necessary  for  the  occasion,  returned  her  bill, 
bowed,  and  immediately  looked  another  way  with  sedulous 
care. 

It  requires  an  extra  amount  of  discretion  and  delicacy 
to  make  it  tolerable  to  a  true  lad}r  to  become  in  the  smallest 
degree  indebted  to  a  gentleman  who  is  a  stranger.  I  was 
aware  that  my  fair  vis-a-vis  was  inwardly  disturbed  at 
having  inadvertently  been  obliged  to  accept  from  me  even 
so  small  an  obligation  as  a  fare  ticket ;  but  as  matters  were, 
there  was  no  help  for  it.  On  the  whole,  though  I  was  sorry 


THE   UMBRELLA. 

"  Before  a  very  elegant  house  in  Fifth  Avenue  my  unknown  alighted, 
and  the  rain  still  continuing,  there  was  an  excuse  for  my  still  attention*/ 
her  up  the  steps." 


I  MEET  A  VISION.  159 

for  her,  I  could  not  but  regard  the  incident  as  a  species  of 
good  luck  for  myself.  We  rode  along — perhaps  each  of  us 
conscious  at  times  of  being  attentively  considered  by  the 
other,  until  the  cars  turned  up  Park  Row  before  the  Astor 
House ;  she  signalled  the  conductor  to  stop,  and  got  out. 
Here  it  was  that  the  beneficent  intentions  of  the  fates,  in 
causing  me  to  bring  my  umbrella,  were  made  manifest. 

Just  as  the  car  started  again,  came  one  of  those  sudden 
gushes  of  rain  with  which  perverse  April  delights  to  ruffle 
and  discompose  unwary  passengers.  It  was  less  a  decent, 
decorous  shower,  than  a  dash  of  water  by  the  bucketful. 
Immediately  I  jumped  out  and  stepped  to  the  side  of  my 
gentle  neighbor,  begging  her  to  allow  me  to  hold  my  um- 
brella over  her,  and  see  her  in  safety  across  Broadway.  She 
meant  to  have  stopped  at  one  or  two  places,  she  said,  but  it 
rained  so  she  would  thank  me  to  put  her  into  a  Fifth 
Avenue  stage.  So  we  went  together,  threading  our  way 
through  rushing  and  trampling  carriages,  horses,  and  cars, 
— a  driving  storm  above,  below,  and  around,  which  seemed 
to  throw  my  fair  princess  entirely  upon  my  protection  for 
a  few  moments,  till  I  had  her  safe  in  the  up-town  omnibus. 
As  it  was  my  route,  also,  I,  too,  entered,  and  by  this  time 
feeling  a  sort  of  privilege  of  acquaintance,  arranged  the 
fare  for  her,  and  again  received  a  courteous  and  apologetic 
acknowledgment.  Before  a  very  elegant  house  in  Fifth 
Avenue  my  unknown  alighted,  and  the  rain  still  continu- 
ing, there  was  an  excuse  for  my  attending  her  up  the  steps, 
and  ringing  the  door-bell  for  her. 

We  were  kept  waiting  in  this  position  several  minutes, 
when  she  very  gracefully  expressed  her  thanks  for  my 
kindness,  and  begged  that  I  would  walk  in. 

Surprised  and  pleased,  I  excused  myself  on  plea  of  en- 
gagements, but  presented  her  with  my  card,  and  said  I 
would  do  myself  the  pleasure  of  calling  at  another  time. 

With  a  little  laugh  and  blush  she  handed  me  a  card  from 
the  tiny  pearl  and  gold  case,  on  which  was  engraved  "  Eva 
Van  Arsdel,"  and  in  the  corner,  "  Wednesdays." 


160  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

"  We  receive  on  Wednesdays,  Mr.  Henderson,"  she  said, 
"  and  mamma  will  be  so  happy  to  make  your  acquaintance." 

Here  the  door  opened,  and  my  fairy  princess  vanished 
from  view,  with  a  parting  vision  of  a  blush,  smile,  and  bow, 
and  I  was  left  outside  with  the  rain  and  the  mud  and  the 
dull,  commonplace  grind  of  my  daily  work. 

The  house,  as  I  noted  it,  was  palatial  in  its  aspect, 
Clear,  large  windows,  which  seemed  a  single  sheet  of 
crystal,  gave  a  view  of  banks  of  flowering  hyacinths, 
daffodils,  crocuses,  and  roses,  curtained  in  by  misty  falls  of 
lace  drapery.  Evidently  it  was  one  of  those  Circean  re- 
gions of  retreat,  where  the  lovely  daughters  of  fashiona- 
ble wealth  in  New  York  keep  guard  over  an  eternal  lotus- 
eater's  paradise ;  where  they  tread  on  enchanted  carpets, 
move  to  the  sound  of  music,  and  live  among  flowers  and 
odors  a  life  of  blissful  ignorance  of  toil  or  care. 

"  To  what  purpose,"  I  thought  to  myself,  "  should  I  call 
there,  or  pursue  the  vision  into  its  own  regions?  ^Eneas 
might  as  well  try  to  follow  Venus  to  the  scented  regions 
above  Idalia,  where  her  hundred  altars  forever  burn,  and 
her  flowers  never  die." 

But  yet  I  was  no  wiser  and  no  older  than  other  men  at 
three-and-twenty,  and  the  little  card  which  I  had  placed 
in  my  vest  pocket  seemed  to  diffuse  an  agreeable,  electric 
warmth,  which  constantly  reminded  me  of  its  presence 
there.  I  took  it  out  and  looked  at  it.  1  spelled  the  name 
over,  and  dwelt  on  every  letter.  There  was  so  much  posi- 
tive character  in  the  little  lady,— such  a  sort  of  spicy,  racy 
individuality,  that  the  little  I  had  seen  of  her  was  like  read- 
ing the  first  page  of  an  enchanting  romance,  and  I  could 
not  repress  a  curiosity  to  go  on  with  it.  To-day  was  Mon- 
day ;  the  reception  day  was  Wednesday.  Should  I  go  ? 

Prudence  said,  "No  ;  you  are  a  young  man  with  your  way 
to  make;  you  are  self-dependent;  you  are  poor;  you  have 
no  time  to  spend  in  helping  rich  idle  people  to  hunt  but- 
terflies, and  string  rose-leaves,  and  make  dandelion-chains. 
If  you  set  your  foot  over  one  of  those  enchanted  thresholds, 


I  MEET  A  VISION.  16! 

where  wealth  and  idleness  rule  together,  you  will  be  bewil- 
dered, enervated,  and  spoiled  for  any  really  hi^h  or  se- 
vere task-work ;  you  will  become  an  idler,  a  dangler ;  the 
power  of  sustained  labor  and  self-denial  will  depart  from 
you,  and  you  will  run  like  a  breathless  lackey  after  the 
chariot  of  wealth  and  fashion." 

On  the  other  hand,  as  the  little  bit  of  enchanted  paste- 
board gently  burned  in  niy  vest  pocket,  it  said : 

"  Why  should  you  be  rude  ?  It  is  incumbent  on  you  as  a 
gentleman  to  respond  to  the  invitation  so  frankly  given. 
Besides,  the  writer  who  aspires  to  influence  society  must 
know  society ;  and  how  can  one  know  society  unless  one 
studies  it  ?  A  hermit  in  his  cell  is  no  judge  of  what  is 
going  on  in  the  world.  Besides,  he  does  not  overcome  the 
world  \vho  runs  away  from  it,  but  he  who  meets  it  bravely. 
It  is  the  part  of  a  coward  to  be  afraid  of  meeting  wealth  and 
luxury  and  indolence  on  their  own  grounds.  He  really  con- 
quers who  can  keep  awake,  walking  straight  through  the 
enchanted  ground;  not  he  who  makes  a  detour  to  get 
round  it.' 

All  which  I  had  arrayed  in  good  set  terms  as  I  rode  back 
to  my  room,  and  went  up  to  Bolton  to  lock  up  in  his  library 
the  authorities  for  an  article  I  was  getting  out  on  tae  Do- 
mestic Life  of  the  Ancient  Greeks.  Bolton  had  succeeded  in 
makJng  me  feel  so  thoroughly  at  home  in  his  library  that 
it  was  to  all  intents  and  purposes  as  if  it  were  my  own. 

As  I  was  tumbling  over  the  books  that  filled  every  cor- 
ner, there  fell  out  from  a  little  niche  a  photograph,  or 
rather  ambrotype,  such  as  were  in  use  in  the  infancy  of  the 
art.  It  fell  directly  into  my  hand,  so  that  taking  it  up  it 
was  impossible  not  to  perceive  what  it  was,  and  I  recog- 
nized in  an  instant  the  person.  It  was  the  head  of  my 
cousin  Caroline,  not  as  I  knew  her  now,  but  as  I  remem- 
bered her  years  ago,  when  she  and  I  went  to  the  Academy 
together. 

It  is  almost  an  involuntary  thing,  on  such  occasions,  to 
exclaim,  "  Who  is  this?"  But  Bolton  was  so  very  reticent  a 


162  MY  WIFE  AND  I 

being  that  I  found  it  extremely  difficult  to  ask  him  a  person- 
al question.  There  are  individuals  who  unite  a  great  win- 
ning and  sympathetic  faculty  with  great  reticence.  They 
make  you  talk,  they  win  your  confidence,  they  are  interested 
in  you,  but  they  ask  nothing  from  you,  and  they  tell  you 
nothing.  Bolton  was  all  the  while  doing  obliging  things 
for  me  and  for  Jim,  but  he  asked  nothing  from  us;  and 
while  we  felt  safe  in  saying  anything  in  the  world  before 
him,  and  while  we  never  felt  at  the  moment  that  con- 
versation flagged,  or  that  there  was  any  deficiency  in  sym- 
pathy and  good  fellowship  on  his  part,  yet  upon  reflection 
we  could  never  recall  anything  which  let  us  into  the  inte- 
rior of  his  own  life-history. 

The  finding  of  this  little  memento  impressed  me,  there- 
fore, oddly j — as  if  a  door  had  suddenly  been  opened  into  a 
private  cabinet  where  I  had  no  right  to  look,  or  an  open 
letter  which  I  had  no  right  to  read  had  been  inadvertently 
put  into  my  hands.  I  looked  round  on  Bolton,  as  he  sat 
quietly  bending  over  a  book  that  he  was  consulting,  with 
his  pen  in  hand  and  his  cat  at  his  elbow ;  but  the  question  I 
longed  to  ask  stuck  fast  in  my  throat,  and  I  silently  put 
back  the  picture  in  its  place,  keeping  the  incident  to  ponder 
in  my  heart.  What  with  the  one  pertaining  to  myself,  and 
with  the  thoughts  suggested  by  this,  I  found  myself  in  a  dis- 
turbed state  that  I  determined  to  resist  by  setting  myself 
a  definite  task  of  so  many  pages  of  my  article. 

In  the  evening,  when  Jim  came  in,  I  recounted  my  adven- 
ture and  showed  him  the  card. 

He  surveyed  it  with  a  prolonged  whistle.  "  Good  now  !w 
he  said;  "the  ticket  sent  by  the  Providence  Express.  I 
see—" 

"Who  are  these  Van  Arsdels,  Jim?" 

"  Upper  tens,"  said  Jim,  decisively.  "  Not  the  oldest  Tens, 
but  the  second  batch.  Xot  the  old  Knickerbocker  Van- 
derhoof,  and  Vanderhyde,  and  Vanderhorn  set  that  Washy 
Irving  tells  about,— but  the  modern  nobs.  Old  Van  Arsdel 
does  a  smashing  importing  business — is  worth  his  millions 


I  MEET  A  VISION.  163 

— has  five  girls,  all  handsome — two  out — two  more  to  come 
out,  and  one  strong- minded  sister  who  has  retired  from 
the  world,  and  isn't  seen  out  anywhere.  The  one  you  saw 
was  Eva ;  they  say  she's  to  marry  Wat  Sydney, — the  greatest 
match  there  is  going  in  New  York.  How  do  you  say — shall 
you  go,  Wednesday  ?" 

"  Do  you  know  them  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes.  Alice  Van  Arsdel  is  a  splendid  girl,  and  we  are 
good  Mends,  and  I  look  in  on  them  sometimes  just  to 
give  them  the  light  of  my  countenance.  They  are  always 
after  me  to  lead  the  German  in  their  parties ;  but  I've  given 
that  up.  Hang  it  all !  it's  too  steep  on  a  fellow  that  has  to 
work  all  day,  with  no  let  up,  to  be  kept  dancing  till  day- 
light with  those  girls.  It  don't  pay !" 

"  I  should  think  not,"  said  I. 

"You  see,"  pursued  Jim,  "these  girls  have  nothing  under 
heaven  to  do,  and  when  they've  danced  all  night,  they  go  to 
bed  and  sleep  till  till  eleven  or  twelve  o'clock  the  next  day 
and  get  their  rest;  while  we  fellows  have  to  be  up  and  in 
our  offices  at  eight  o'clock  next  morning.  The  fact  is,  it 
may  do  for  once  or  twice,  but  it  knocks  a  fellow  up  pret- 
ty fast.  It's  a  bad  thing  for  the  fellows ;  they  get  to  taking 
wine  and  brandy  and  one  thing  or  another  to  keep  up,  and 
the  Devil  only  knows  what  comes  of  it.7' 

"  And  are  these  Van  Arsdels  in  that  frivolous  set  *?"  said  I. 

"  Well,  you  see  they  are  not  really  frivolous,  either ; 
they  are  nice  girls,  well  educated,  graduated  at  the  Universal 
Thingumbob  College,  where  they  teach  girls  everything 
that  ever  has  been  heard  of,  before  they  are  seventeen. 
And  then  they  have  lived  in  Paris,  and  lived  in  Germany, 
and  lived  in  Italy,  and  picked  up  all  the  languages;  so 
that  when  they  have  anything  to  say  they  have  a  choice  of 
four  languages  to  say  it  in." 

"  And  have  they  anything  to  say  worth  hearing  in  any  of 
the  four1?"  said  I. 

"  Well,  yes,  now,  honor  bright.  There's  Alice  Van  Arsdel: 
•he's  ambitious  as  the  devil,  but,  after  all,  a  good,  warm- 


164  MT  WIFE  AND  I. 

hearted  girl  under  it— and  smart !  there's  no  doubt  of  that." 
'  And  this  lady  *?"  said  I,  fingering  the  card. 

"  Eva?  Well,  she's  had  a  great  run ;  she's  killing,  as  they 
say,  and  she's  pretty— no  denying  that ;  and,  really,  there's 
a  good  deal  to  her, — like  the  sponge  cake  at  the  bottom  of 
the  trifle,  you  know,  with  a  good  smart  flavor  of  wine  and 
spice." 

"  And  she's  engaged  to— whom  did  you  say  ?" 

"Wat  Sydney." 

"  And  what  sort  of  a  man  is  he  ?" 

"What  sort?  why,  he's  a  rich  man;  owns  all  sorts  of 
things,— gold  mines  in  California,  and  copper  mines  in  Lake 
Superior,  and  salt  works,  ami  railroads.  In  fact,  the  thing 
is  to  say  what  he  doesn't  own.  Immense  head  for  business, 
— regular  steel-trap  to  deal  with, — has  the  snap  of  a  pike." 

"  Pleasing  prospect  for  a  domestic  companion,"  said  I. 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,  I  believe  Wat  is  good-hearted  enough  to 
his  own  folks.  They  say  he  is  very  devoted  to  his  old 
mother  and  a  parcel  of  old  maid  aunts,  and  as  he's  rich,  it's 
thought  a  great  virtue.  Nobody  sings  my  praises,  I  notice, 
because  I  mind  my  mammy  and  Aunt  Sarah.  You  see  it 
takes  a  million-power  solar  microscope  to  bring  out  fellows' 
virtues." 

"  Is  the  gentleman  handsome  ?" 

"Well,  if  he  was  poor,  nobody  would  think  much  of 
his  looks.  If  he  had,  say,  a  hundred  thousand  or  two,  he 
would  be  called  fair  to  middling  in  looks.  As  it  is,  the  girls 
rave  about  him.  He's  been  after  Eva  now  for  six  months, 
and  the  other  girls  are  ready  to  tear  her  eyes  out.  But  the 
engagement  hasn't  come  out  yet.  I  think  she's  making  up 
her  mind  to  him." 

"  Not  in  love,  then  ?" 

"Well,  she's  been  queen  so  long  she's  blasfa  and  difficult, 
and  likes  to  play  with  her  fish  before  she  lands  him.  But  of 
course  she  must  have  him.  Girls  like  that  must  have 
money  to  keep  'em  up ;  that's  the  first  requisite.  I  tell  you 
the  purple  and  tine  linen  of  these  princesses  come  to  some- 


I  MEET  A.  VISION.  165 

thing.  Now,  as  rich  men  go,  she'd  find  ten  worse  than  Wat 
where  there's  one  belter.  Then  she's  been  out  three  sea- 
sons. There's  Alice  just  come  out,  and  Alice  is  a  stunner, 
and  takes  tremendously!  And  then  there's  Angeline,  a 
handsome,  spicy  little  witch,  smarter  than  either,  that  is 
just  fluttering1,  and  scratching,  and  tearing  her  hair  with 
impatience  to  have  her  turn.  And  behind  Angeline  there's 
Marie — she's  got  a  confounded  pair  of  eyes.  So  you  see 
there's  no  help  for  it ;  Miss  Eva  must  abdicate  and  make 
room  for  the  next  comer." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "about  this  reception  F 

"  Oh !  go,  by  all  means,"  said  Jim.  "  It  will  be  fun.  I'll 
go  with  you.  You  see  it's  Lent  now,  thank  the  stars !  and 
so  there's  no  dancing, — only  quiet  evenings  and  lobster  salad ; 
because,  you  see,  we're  all  repenting  of  our  sins  and  getting 
ready  to  go  at  it  again  after  Easter.  A  fellow  now  can  go 
to  receptions,  and  get  away  in  time  to  have  a  night's  rest, 
and  the  girls  now  and  then  talk  a  little  sense  between 
whiles.  They  can  talk  sense  when  they  like,  though  one 
wouldn't  believe  it  of  'em.  Well,  take  care  of  yourself,  my 
son,  and  I'll  take  you  round  there  on  Wednesday  evening." 
And  Jim  went  whistling  down  the  stairs,  leaving  me  to  finish 
my  article  on  the  Domestic  Manners  of  the  Greeks. 

I  remember  that  very  frequently  that  evening,  while 
stopping  to  consider  how  I  should  begin  the  next  sentence, 
I  unconsciously  embellished  the  margin  of  my  manuscript 
by  writing  "Eva,  Eva,  Eva  Van  Arsdel"  in  an  absent- 
minded,  mechanical  way.  In  fact,  from  that  time,  that  name 
began  often  to  obtrude  itself  on  every  bit  of  paper  when  I 
tried  my  pen. 

The  question  of  going  to  the  Wednesday  evening  recep- 
tion was  settled  in  the  affirmative.  What  was  to  hinder  my 
taking  a  look  at  fairy  land  in  a  purely  philosophical  spirit  ? 
Nothing,  certainly.  If  she  were  engaged  she  was  nothing 
to  me,— never  would  be.  So,  clearly  there  was  no  danger. 


166  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

THE    GIRL    OF    OUR    PERIOD. 
[Letter  from  Eva  Van  Arsdel  to  Mrs.  Courtney.] 

|Y  DEAR  FRIEND  AND  TEACHER  : — I  scarcely  dare 
trust  myself  to  look  at  the  date  of  your  kind 
letter.  Can  it  really  be  that  I  have  let  it  lie 
almost  a  year,  hoping,  meaning,  sincerely  intending  to 
answer  it,  and  yet  doing  nothing  about  it  ?  Oh  !  my 
dear  friend,  I  was  a  better  girl  while  I  was  under  your 
care  than  I  am  now ;  in  those  times  I  really  did  my  du- 
ties; I  never  put  off  things,  and  I  came  somewhere  near 
satisfying  myself.  Now,  I  live  in  a  constant  whirl — a  whirl 
that  never  ceases.  I  am  carried  on  from  day  to  day,  from 
week  to  week,  from  month  to  month,  with  nothing  to  show 
for  it  except  a  succession  of  what  girls  call  "  good  times." 
I  don't  read  any  thing  but  stories ;  I  don't  study ;  I  don't 
write;  I  don't  sew;  I  don't  draw,  or  play,  or  sing,  to  any 
real  purpose.  I  just  "go  into  society,"  as  they  call  it.  I  am 
an  idler,  and  the  only  thing  lam  good  for  is  that  I  help  to 
adorn  a  house  for  the  entertainment  of  idlers;  that  is 
about  all. 

Now  Lent  has  come,  and  I  am  thankful  for  the  rest  from 
parties  and  dancing ;  but  yet  Lent  makes  me  blue,  because 
it  gives  me  some  time  to  think;  and  besides  that,  when  all 
this  whirligig  stops  awhile,  I  feel  how  dizzy  and  tired  it  has 
made  me.  And  then  I  think  of  all  that  you  used  to  tell  me 
about  the  real  object  of  life,  and  all  that  I  so  sincerely 
resolved  in  my  school-days  that  I  would  do  and  be,  and  I 
am  quite  in  despair  about  myself. 

It  is  three  years  since  I  really  "came  out,"  as  the  phrase 
goes.  Up  to  that  time  I  was  far  happier  than  I  have  been 
since,  because  I  satisfied  myself  better.  You  always  said, 
dear  friend,  that  I  was  a  good  scholar,  and  faithful  to  every 


THE  GIRL  OF  OUR  PERIOD.  167 

duty ;  and  those  days,  when  I  had  a  definite  duty  for  each 
hour,  and  did  it  well,  were  days  when  I  liked  myself  better 
than  now.  I  did  enjoy  study.  I  enjoyed  our  three  years 
in  Europe,  too,  for  then,  with  much  variety  and  many 
pleasures,  I  had  regular  studies ;  I  was  learning  something, 
and  did  not  feel  that  I  was  a  mere  do-nothing. 

But  since  I  have  been  going  into  company  I  am  perfectly 
sick  of  myself.  For  the  first  year  it  was  new  to  me,  and  I 
was  light-headed  and  thought  it  glorious  fun.  It  was 
excitement  all  the  time — dressing,  and  going,  and  seeing, 
and  being  admired,  and,  well— flirting.  I  Confess  I  liked 
it ,  and  went  into  it  with  all  my  might, — parties,  balls,  opera, 
concerts  all  the  winter  in  New  York,  and  parties,  balls,  etc. 
at  Newport  and  Saratoga  in  Summer.  It  was  a  sort  of  pro- 
longed delirium.  I  didn't  stop  to  think  about  anything, 
and  lived  like  a  butterfly,  by  the  hour.  Oh!  the  silly 
things  I  have  said  and  done !  I  find  myself  blushing  hot 
when  I  think  of  them,  because,  you  see,  I  am  so  excitable, 
and  sometimes  am  so  carried  away,  that  afterward  I  don't 
know  what  1  may  have  said  or  done  ! 

And  now  all  this  is  coming  to  some  end  or  other.  This 
going  into  company  can't  last  forever.  We  must  be  mar- 
ried—that's  what  we  are  for,  they  say  ;  that's  what  all  this 
dressing,  and  dancing,  and  flying  about  has  got  to  end  in. 
And  so  mamma  and  Aunt  Maria  are  on  thorns,  to. get  me 
off  their  hands  and  well  established.  I  have  been  out 
three  seasons.  I  am  twenty-three,  and  Alice  has  just  come 
out,  and  it  is  expected,  of  course,  that  I  retire  with  honor. 
I  will  not  stop  to  tell  you  that  I  have  rejected  about  the 
usual  number  of  offers  that  young  ladies  in  my  position  get, 
and  I  haven't  seen  anybody  that  I  care  a  copper  for. 

Well,  now,  in  this  crisis,  comes  this  Mr.  Sidney,  who 
proposed  to  me  last  Fall,  and  I  refused  point-blank,  simply 
and  only  because  I  didn't  love  him,  which  seemed  to  me  at 
that  time  reason  enough.  Then  mamma  and  Aunt  Maria 
took  ii]>  the  case,  and  told  me  that  I  was  a  foolish  girl  to 
throw  away  such  an  offer:  a  man  of  good  character  and 


168  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

standing,  an  excellent  business  man,  and  so  immensely 
rich — with  such  a  splendid  place  at  Newport,  and  another 
in  New  York,  and  a  fortune  like  Aladdin's  lamp ! 

I  said  1  didn't  love  him,  and  they  said  I  hadn't  tried; 
that  I  could  love  him  if  I  only  made  up  my  mind  to,  and  why 
wouldn't  I  try  ?  Then  papa  turned  in,  who  very  seldom 
has  anything  to  say  to  us  girls,  or  about  any  family  matters, 
and  said  how  delighted  lie  should  be  to  see  me  married  to 
a  man  so  capable  of  taking  care  of  me.  So,  among  them  all, 
I  agreed  that  I  would  receive  his  visits  and  attentions  as  a 
friend,  with  a  view  to  trying  to  love  him  ;  and  ever  since  I 
have  been  banked  up  in  flowers  and  confectionery,  and 
daily  drifting  into  relations  of  closer  and  closer  intimacy. 

Do  I  find  myself  in  love?  Not  a  bit.  Frankly,  dear 
friend,  to  tell  the  awful  truth,  the  thing  that  weighs  down 
my  heart  is,  that  if  this  man  were  not  so  rich,  I  know  I 
shouldn't  think  of  him.  If  he  were  a  poor  young  man,  just 
beginning  business,  I  know  I  should  not  give  him  a  second 
thought;  neither  would  mother,  nor  Aunt  Maria,  nor  any  of 
us.  But  here  are  all  these  worldly  advantages !  I  confess 
I  am  dazzled  by  them.  I  am  silly,  I  am  weak,  I  am  ainbi 
tious.  I  like  to  feel  that  I  may  have  the  prize  of  the  sea 
son — the  greatest  offer  in  the  market.  I  know  I  am  envied 
and,  oh,  dear  me!  though  it's  naughty,  yet  one  does  like 
to  be  envied.  Besides,  to  tell  the  truth,  though  I  am  not  in 
love  with  him,  I  am  not  in  love  with  anybody  else.  I  respect 
him,  and  esteem  him,  and  all  that,  in  a  Quiet,  negative  sort 
of  way,  and  mother  and  Aunt  Maria  say  everything  else 
will  come— after  marriage.  Will  it  ?  Is  it  right  ?  Is  this 
the  way  I  ought  to  marry  ? 

But  then,  you  know,  I  must  marry  somebody — that,  they 

i  say,  is  a  fixed  fact.    It  seems  to  be  understood  that  I  am  a 

sort  of  helpless  affair,  to  be  taken  care  of,  and  that  now  is 

my  time  to  be  disposed  of ;  and  they  tell  me  every  day  that 

if  I  le^  this  chance  go,  I  shall  regret  it  all  my  life. 

Do  you  know  I  wish  there  were  convents  that  one  could 
go  out  of  the  world  into  ?  Cousin  Sophia  Sewell  has  joined 


THE  GIRL  OF  OUR  PERIOD.  169 

the  Sisters  of  St.  John,  and  says  she  never  was  so  happy. 
She  does  look  so  cheerful,  and  she  is  so  busy  from  morning 

till  night,  and  has  the  comfort  of  doing:  so  much  good  to  a 
lotot  those  poor  little  children,  that  I  envy  her. 

But  i  cannot  become  a  Sister.  What  would  mamma  say 
if  she  knew  I  even  thought  of  it  ?  Everybody  would  think 
me  crazy.  Nobody  would  believe  how  much  there  is  in  me 
that  never  comes  to  light,  nor  how  miserable  it  makes  me  to 
be  the  poor,  half-hearted  thing  that  I  am. 

You  know,  dear  friend,  about  sister  Ida's  peculiar  course, 
and  how  very  much  it  has  vexed  mamma.  Yet,  really  and 
truly,  I  can't  help  respecting  Ida.  It  seems  to  me  she  shows 
a  real  strength  of  principle  that  I  lack.  She  went  into  gay 
society  only  a  little  while  before  she  gave  it  up,  and  her 
reasons,  I  think,  were  good  ones.  She  said  it  weakened 
her  health,  weakened  her  mind ;  that  there  was  no  use  in 
it,  and  that  it  was  just  making  her  physically  and  morally 
helpless,  and  that  she  wanted  to  live  for  a  purpose  of  her 
own.  She  wanted  to  go  to  Paris,  and  study  for  the  medical 
profession ;  but  neither  papa,  nor  mamma,  nor  any  of  the 
family  would  hear  of  it.  But  Ida  persisted  that  she  would 
do  something,  and  finally  papa  took  her  into  his  business, 
to  manage  the  foreign  correspondence,  which  she  does  ad- 
mirably, putting  all  her  knowledge  of  languages  to  account. 
He  gives  her  the  salary  of  a  confidential  clerk,  and  she  lays 
it  up,  with  the  intention  finally  of  carrying- her  purpose. 

Ida  is  a  good,  noble  woman,  of  a  strength  and  independ- 
ence perfectly  incomprehensible  to  me.  I  can  desire,  but 
I  cannot  do ;  I  am  weak  and  irresolute.  People  can  talk 
me  round,  and  do  anything  with  me,  and  I  cannot  help  my- 
self. 

Another  thing  makes  me  unhappy.  Ida  refused  to  be 
confirmed  when  I  was,  because,  she  said,  confirmation  was 
only  a  sham  ;  that  the  girls  were  just  as  wholly  worldly  after 
as  before,  and  that  it  did  no  earthly  good. 

Well,  you  see,  I  was  confirmed ;  and,  oh  dear  me !  I 
was  sincere,  God  knows.  I  wanted  to  be  good— to  live  a 


170  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

higher,  purer,  nobler  life  than  I  have  lived ;  and  yet,  after 
all,  it  is  I,  the  child  of  the  Church,  that  am  living  a  life 
of  folly,  and  show,  and  self-indulgence  ;  and  it  is  Ida,  who 
doubts  the  Church,  that  is  living  a  life  of  industry,  and 
energy,  and  self-denial. 

Why  is  it?  The  world  that  we  promise  to  renounce, 
that  our  sponsors  promised  that  we  should  renounce — what 
is  it,  and  where  is  it  ?  Do  those  vows  mean  anything  *?  if 
so,  what  ?  I  mean  to  do  all  that  I  ought  to ;  but  how  to 
know  what  f  There's  Aunt  Maria,  my  god-mother,  she  did 
the  renouncing  for  me  at  my  baptism,  and  promised  sol- 
emnly that  I  should  abjure  "  the  vain  pomp  and  glory  of 
the  world,  with  all  covetous  desires  of  the  same;  that  I 
should  not  follow,  or  be  led  by  them ;"  yet  she  has  never, 
that  I  can  see,  had  one  thought  of  anything  else  but  how 
to  secure  to  me  just  exactly  those  very  things.  That  I 
should  be  first  in  society,  be  admired,  followed,  nattered, 
and  make  a  rich,  splendid  marriage,  has  been  her  very 
heart's  desire  and  prayer ;  and  if  I  should  renounce  the  vain 
pomp  and  glory  of  the  world,  really  and  truly,  she  would 
be  utterly  heart-broken.  So  would  mamma. 

I  don't  mean  to  lay  all  the  blame  on  them,  either.  I  have 
been  worldly,  too,  and  ambitious,  and  wanted  to  shine,  and 
been  only  too  willing  to  fall  in  with  all  their  views. 

But  it  really  is  hard  for  a  person  like  me  to  stand  alone, 
against  my  own  heart,  and  all  my  relatives,  particularly 
when  I  don't  know  exactly,  in  each  case,  what  to  do,  and 
what  not ;  where  to  begin  to  resist,  and  where  to  yield. 

Ida  says  that  it  is  a  sin  to  spend  nights  in  dancing,  so  that 
one  has  to  lie  in  bed  like  an  invalid  all  the  next  day.  She 
says  it  is  a  sin  to  run  down  one's  health  for  no  good  pur- 
pose ;  and  yet  we  girls  all  do  it— everybody  does  it.  We 
all  go  from  party  to  party,  from  concert  to  ball,  and  from 
ball  to  something  else.  We  dance  the  German  three  or 
four  nights  a  week ;  and  then,  when  Sunday  comes,  some- 
times I  find  that  there  is  the  Holy  Communion— and  then  I 


THE  GIRL  OF  OUR  PERIOD.  171 

am  afraid  to  go.  I  am  like  the  man  that  had  not  on  the 
wedding  garment. 

It  seems  to  me  that  our  church  services  were  made  for 
real  Christians — people  like  the  primitive  Christians,  who 
made  a  real  thing  of  it ;  they  gave  up  everything  and  went 
down  and  worshiped  iu  the  catacombs,  for  instance.  I 
remember  seeing  those  catacombs  where  they  held  their 
church  far  down  under  ground,  when  I  was  in  Eome.  There 
would  be  some  meaning  in  such  people's  using  our  service, 
but  when  I  try  to  go  through  with  it  I  fear  to  take  such 
words  on  my  lips.  I  wonder  that  nobody  seems  to  feel  how 
awful  those  words  are,  and  how  much  they  must  mean,  if 
they  mean  anything.  It  seems  to  me  so  solemn  to  say  to 
God,  as  we  do  say  in  the  communion  service,  "Here  we  offer 
and  present  unto  Thee,  0,  Lord,  ourselves,  our  souls  and 
bodies,  to  be  a  reasonable,  holy,  and  living  sacrifice  unto 
Thee" 

I  see  so  many  saying  this  who  never  seem  to  think  of 
it  again ;  and,  oh,  my  dear  friend,  I  have  said  it  myself,  and 
been  no  better  afterward,  and  now,  alas,  I  too  often  turn 
away  from  the  holy  ordinance  because  I  feel  that  it  is  only  a 
mockery  to  utter  them,  living  as  I  do. 

About  this  marriage.  Mr.  Sydney  is  not  at  all  a  religious 
man  ;  he  is  all  for  this  world,  and  I  don't  think  I  shall  grow 
much  better  by  it. 

I  wish  there  were  somebody  that  could  strengthen  me,  and 
help  me  to  be  my  better  self.  I  have  dreams  of  a  sort  of 
man  like  King  Arthur,  and  the  Knights  of  the  Holy  Grail  a 
man,  noble,  holy,  and  religious.  Such  an  one  I  would  fol- 
low if  I  broke  away  from  every  one  else ;  but,  alas,  no  such 
are  in  our  society,  at  least  I  never  have  met  any.  Yet  I 
have  it  in  me  to  love,  even  to  death,  if  I  found  a  real  hero. 
I  marked  a  place  in  a  book  the  other  day,  which  said  : 

"There  is  not  so  much  difficulty  in  being  willing  to  die  for 
one,  as  finding  one  worth  dying  for." 

I  haven't,  and  they  laugh  at  me  as  a  romantic  girl  when  I 
tell  them  what  I  would  do  if  I  found  my  ideal. 


172  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

Well,  1  suppose  you  see  how  it's  all  likely  to  end.  We 
drift,  and  drift  and  drift,  and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  I  drifted 
at  last  into  this  marriage.  I  see  it  all  before  me,  just  what 
it  will  be,— a  wonderful  wedding,  that  turns  all  New  York 
topsy  turvy — diamonds,  laces,  cashmeres,  infinite  flowers, 
and  tuberoses  of  courss,  till  one's  head  aches, — clang  and 
ding,  and  bang  and  buzz  ; — triumphal  processions  to  all  the 
watering-places ;  tour  in  Europe,  and  then  society  life  in 
New  York,  ad  infinitum. 

Oh,  dear,  if  I  only  could  get  up  some  enthusiasm  for  him ! 
He  likes  me,  but  he  don't  like  the  things  that  I  like,  and  it  is 
terribly  slow  work  entertaining  him — but  when  we  are 
married  we  shan't  see  so  much  of  each  other,  I  suppose,  and 
shall  get  on  as  other  folks  do.  Papa  and  mamma  hardly 
ever  see  much  of  each  other,  but  I  suppos3  they  are  all 
right.  Aunt  Maria  says,  love  or  no  love  at  the  beginning, 
it  all  comes  to  this  sort  of  jog-trot  at  the  end.  The  husband 
is  the  man  that  settles  the  bills,  and  takes  care  of  the  family, 
that's  all. 

Ida  says — but  I  won't  tell  you  what  Ida  says — she  always 
makes  me  feel  blue. 

Do  write  me  a  good  scolding  letter ;  rouse  me  up  ;  shame 
me,  scold  me,  talk  hard  to  me,  and  see  if  you  can't  make 
something  of  me.  Perhaps  it  isn't  too  late. 

Your  affectionate  bad  girl,  EVA. 


[Letter  from  Mrs.  Courtney  to  Eva  Van  Arsdel.] 

My  Dear  Child : — You  place  me  in  an  embarrassing  posi- 
tion in  asking  me  to  speak  on  a  subject,  when  your  parents 
have  already  declared  their  wishes. 

Nevertheless,  my  dear,  I  can  but  remind  you  that  you 
are  the  child  of  an  higher  than  any  earthly  mother,  and  in  an 
affair  of  this  moment  you  should  take  counsel  of  our  holy 
Church.  Take  your  prayer-book  and  read  her  solemn  ser- 


THE  GIRL  OF  OUR  PERIOD.  ^3 

vice,  and  see  what  tbose  marriage  vows  are  that  you  think 
of  taking.  Are  these  to  be  taken  lightly  and  unadvisedly  ? 

I  recollect,  when  I  was  a  young  girl,  we  used  to  read  Sir 
Charles  Graudison,  and  one  passage  in  the  model  Harriet 
Byron's  letters  I  copied  into  my  scrap-book.  Speaking  of 
one  who  had  proposed  to  her,  she  says : 

"He  seems  to  want  the  inind  that  I  would  have  the  man 
blessed  with  that  I  am  to  vow  to  love  and  honor.  I  purpose 
whenever  I  marry  to  make  a  very  good,  and  even  dutiful 
wife ;  must  I  not  vow  obedience,  and  shall  I  break  my  mar- 
riage vow?  I  would  not,  therefore,  on  any  consideration, 
marry  a  man  whose  want  of  knowledge  might  make  me 
stagger  in  the  performance  of  my  duty  to  him ;  who  would, 
perhaps,  command  from  caprice  or  want  of  understanding 
what  I  think  unreasonable  to  be  complied  with." 

I  quote  this  because  I  think  it  is  old  fashioned  good  sense, 
in  a  respectable  old  English  novel,  worth  a  dozen  of  the 
modern  school.  To  me,  there  is  indicated  in  your  description 
of  Mr.  Sydney,  just  that  lack  of  what  you  would  need  in  a 
husband,  which  would  make  difficult,  perhaps  impossible, 
the  performance  of  your  marriage  vows.  It  is  evident  that 
his  mind  does  not  impress  yours  or  control  yours,  and  that 
th ; TO  are  no  mental  sympathies  between  you. 

That  a  man  is  a  good  business  man ;  that  he  is  fitted  to 
secure  the  rent  or  taxes  of  the  house  one  lives  in,  and  to  pay 
one's  bills,  is  not  all.  Think,  my  child,  that  this  man,  for 
whom  you  can  "get  up  no  enthusiasm,*'  whose  company 
wearies  you,  is  the  one  whom  you  are  proposing  to  take  by 
the  hand  before  God's  altar,  and  solemnly  promise  that  for- 
saldny  all  others^  you  will  keep  only  unto  him,  so  long  as  you 
both  shall  live,  to  love,  to  honor,  and  to  obey.  Can  you 
doit? 

You  say  you  can  get  up  no  enthusiasm  for  this  man,  yet 
you  have  a  conception  of  a  man  for  whom  you  could  leave  all 
tilings  ;  whom  you  could  love  unto  the  death. 

It  is  out  of  just  such  marriages,  made  by  girls  with  just 
such  hearts  as  yours,  that  come  all  these  troubles  that  are 


174  MY  WIFE  AND  I.    - 

bringing  holy  marriage  into  disrepute  in  our  times.  A 
woman  marries,  thoughtlessly  and  unadvisedly,  a  man  whom 
she  consciously  does  not  love,  hoping  that  she  shall  love  him, 
or  that  she  shall  do  as  well  as  others  do ;  then  by  accident  or 
chance  she  is  thrown  into  the  society  of  the  very  one  whom 
she  could  have  loved  with  enthusiasm,  and  married  for  him- 
self alone.  The  modern  school  of  novels  are  full  of  these 
wretched  stories,  and  people  now  are  clamoring  for  free 
divorce,  to  get  out  of  marriages  that  they  never  ought  to 
have  fallen  into. 

Amid  all  this  confusion  the  Church  stands  from  age  to  age 
and  teaches.  She  shows  you  exactly  what  you  are  to  prom- 
ise; she  warns  you  against  promising  lightly,  or  unad- 
visedly, and  I  can  only  refer  my  dear  child  to  her  mother's 
lessons.  Marriage  vows,  like  confirmation  vows,  are  recorded 
in  Heaven,  and  must  not  be  broken. 

The  time  for  reflection  is  before  they  are  made.  Instead 
of  clamoring  for  free  divorce,  as  a  purifier  of  marriage,  all 
Christians  should  purify  it  as  the  church  recommends,  by 
the  great  care  with  which  they  enter  into  it.  That  is  my 
doctrine,  my  love.  I  am  a  good  old  English  Church- woman, 
and  don't  believe  in  any  modern  theories.  The  teachings  of 
the  prayer-book  are  enough  for  me.  I  know  that,  in  spite  of 
them  all,  there  are  thoughtless  confirmation  vows  and  mar- 
riage vows  daily  uttered  in  our  church,  but  it  is  not  for  want 
of  clear  and  solemn  instruction.  But  you,  my  love,  with 
your  conscientiousness,  and  good  sense,  and  really  noble 
nature,  will  I  am  sure  act  worthily  of  yourself  in  this  matter. 

Another  consideration  I  suggest  to  you.  This  man,  whom 
I  suppose  to  be  a  worthy  and  excellent  man,  has  his  rights. 
He  has  the  right  to  the  whole  heart  of  the  woman  he  marries 
— to  whom  at  the  altar  he  gives  himself  and  all  which  he 
possesses.  A  woman  who  has  what  you  call  an  enthusiasm 
for  a  man,  can  do  much  with  him.  She  can  bear  with  his 
faults ;  she  can  inspire  and  lead  him ;  she  can  raise  him  in 
the  scale  of  being.  But  without  this  enthusiasm,  this  real 
love,  she  can  do  nothing  of  the  kind;  it  is  a  thing  that 


THE  GIRL  OF  OUR  PERIOD-  175 

cannot  be  dissembled,  or  affected.  And  after  marriage,  the 
man  who  does  not  find  this  in  his  wife,  has  the  best  reason 
to  think  himself  defrauded. 

Now,  if  for  the  sake  of  possessing  a  man's  worldly  goods, 
his  advantages  of  fortune  and  station,  you  take  that  relation 
when  you  really  are  unable  to  give  Jiim  your  heart,  you  act 
dishonestly.  You  take  and  enjoy  what  you  cannot  pay  for. 
Not  only  that,  but  you  deprive  him  through  all  his  life  of  the 
blessing  of  being  really  loved,  which  he  might  obtain  with 
some  other  woman. 

The  fact  is,  you  have  been  highly  cultivated  in  certain 
departments;  your  tastes  would  lead  you  into  the  world  of 
art  and  literature.  He  has  been  devoted  to  business,  and  in 
that  way  has  amassed  a  fortune,  but  he  has  no  knowledge, 
and  no  habits  that  would  prepare  him  to  sympathise  with 
you. 

I  am  not  here  undervaluing  the  worth  of  those  strong, 
sterling  qualities  which  belong  to  an  upright  and  vigorous 
man.  There  are  many  women  who  are  impressed  by  just 
that  sort  of  power,  and  admire  it  in  men,  as  they  do  physi- 
cal strength  and  courage  ;  it  dazzles  their  imagination,  and 
they  fall  in.  love  accordingly.  You  happen  to  have  another 
kind  of  fancy — he  is  not  of  your  sort. 

But  there  are  doubtless  women  whom  he  would  fully  sat- 
isfy ;  who  would  find  him  a  delightful  companion  who,  in 
short,  would  be  exactly  what  you  are  not,  in  love  with  him. 
My  dear,  men  need  wives  who  are  in  love  with  them.  Simple 
tolerance  is  not  enough  to  stand  the  strain  of  married  life, 
and  to  marry  when  you  cannot  truly  love  is  to  commit  an 
act  of  dishonesty  and  injustice.  Kemembering,  therefore, 
that  you  are  about  to  do  what  never  can  be  undone,  and 
what  must  make  or  mar  your  whole  future,  I  speak  this  in 
all  sincere  plainness,  because  I  am,  and  ever  must  be, 
Your  affectionate  and  true  friend, 

M.  COURTNEY. 


176  ^^  WIFE  AND  I. 

[Ida  Van  Arsdel  to  Mrs.  Courtney.] 

My  Dear  Friend : — I  am  glad  you  have  written  as  you  have 
to  Eva.  It  is  perfectly  inexplicable  to  me  that  a  girl  of  her 
general  strength  of  character  can  be  so  undecided.  Eva  has 
been  deteriorating  ever  since  she  came  from  Europe.  This 
fashionable  life  is  to  mind  and  body  just  like  a  hotbed  to 
tender  plants  in  summer,  it  wilts  everything  down.  Eva  was 
a  good  scholar  and  I  had  great  hopes  of  her.  She  had  a 
warm  heart;  she  has  really  high  and  noble  aspirations,  but 
for  two  or  three  years  past  she  has  done  nothing  but  run 
down  her  health  and  fritter  away  her  mind  on  trifles.  She 
is  not  half  the  girl  she  was  at  school,  either  mentally  or 
physically,  and  I  am  grieved  and  indignant  at  the  waste. 
Her  only  chance  of  escape  and  salvation  is  to  marry  a  true 
man. 

But  when  people  set  out  as  a  first  requisite  that  the  man 
must  be  rich,  how  many  are  the  chances  of  finding  that1? 

The  rich  men  of  America  are  either  rich  men's  sons,  who» 
from  all  I  have  seen  of  them,  are  poor  trash  enough,  or  busi- 
ness men,  who  have  made  wealth  by  their  own  exertions. 
But  how  few  there  are  who  make  money,  who  do  not  sacri- 
fice their  spiritual  and  nobler  natures  to  do  it?  How  few 
with  whom  the  making  of  money  is  not  the  beginning,  mid- 
dle, and  end  of  life,  and  how  little  can  such  men  do  to 
uphold  and  elevate  the  moral  nature  of  a  wife ! 

Mr.  Sydney  is  a  man,  heart,  soul,  and  strength,  interested 
in  that  mighty  game  of  chance  ani  skill  by  which,  in 
America,  money  is  made.  He  is  a  railroad  king — a  prince 
of  stocks — a  man  going  with  a  forty  thousand  steam  power 
through  New  York  waters.  He  wants  a  wife — a  brilliant, 
attractive,  showy,  dressy  wife,  to  keep  his  house  and  orna- 
ment his  home  ;  and  he  is  at  Eva's  feet,  because  she  is,  011  the 
whole,  the  belle  of  his  circle.  He  chooses  en  Grand  Seigneur, 
and  undoubtedly  he  is  as  much  in  love  with  her  as  such  a 
kind  of  man  can  be.  But,  in  fact,  he  knows  nothing  about 
Eva;  he  does  not  even  know  [enough  to  know  the  dangers 
of  marrying  such  a  woman.  With  all  her  fire,  and  all  her 


THE  GIRL  OF  OUR  PERIOD.  177 

softness,  all  her  restless  enthusiasms,  her  longings  and  aspir- 
ations and  inconsistencies,  what  could  he  do  with  her? 
The  man  who  marries  Eva  ought  to  know  her  better  than 
she  knows  herself,  but  this  man  never  would  know  her,  if 
they  lived  together  an  age.  He  has  no  traits  by  which  (o 
estimate  her,  and  the  very  best  result  of  the  marriage  will 
be  a  mutual  laisser  aller  of  two  people  who  agree  not  to 
quarrel,  and  to  go  their  own  separate  ways,  he  to  his  world' 
and  she  to  hers ;  and  this  sort  of  thing  is  what  is  called  in 
our  times  a  good  marriage. 

I  am  out  of  patience  with  Eva  for  her  very  virtues.  It  is 
her  instinct  to  want  to  please  and  to  comply,  and  because 
mamma  and  aunt  Maria  have  set  their  heart  on  this  match, 
and  because  she  is  empty -hearted  and  tired,  and  ennuyeuse, 
she  has  no  strength  to  stand  up  for  herself .  Her  very  con- 
scientiousness weakens  her ;  she  doubts,  but  does  not  decide. 
She  has  just  enough  of  everything  in  her  nature  to  get  her 
into  trouble,  and  not  enough  to  get  her  out.  A  phrenologist 
told  her  she  needed  destructiveness.  Well,  she  does.  The 
pain -giving  power  is  a  most  necessary  part  of  a  well  organ- 
ized human  being.  Nobody  can  ever  do  anything  without 
the  courage  to  be  disagreeable  at  times,  which  I  have  plenty 
of.  They  do  not  try  to  control  me,  or  enslave  me.  Why? 
Because  I  made  my  declaration  of  independence,  and  planted 
my  guns,  and  got  ready  for  war.  This  is  dreadfully  unamia- 
ble,  but  it  did  the  thing;  it  secured  peace;  I  am  let  alone. 
1  am  allowed  my  freedom,  but  everybody  interferes  with 
Eva.  She  is  conquered  territory— has  no  rights  that  anybody 
is  bound  to  respect.  It  provokes  me. 

As  to  the  religious  part  of  your  letter,  dear  friend,  I 
thank  you  for  it.  I  cannot  see  things  as  you  do,  however. 
To  me  it  appears  that  in  our  day  everything  has  got  to  be 
brought  to  the  simple  test  of,  What  good  does  it  do  ?  If 
baptism,  confirmation  and  eucharist  make  unworldly,  self- 
denying,  self-sacrificing  people  just  as  certainly  as  petunia- 
seed  make  petunias,  why,  then,  nobody  will  have  any  doubt 
of  their  necessity,  and  the  church  will  have  its  throngs.  I 


178  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

don't  see  now  that  they  do.  Go  into  a  fashionable  party  I 
have  been  in,  and  watch  the  girls,  and  see  if  you  can  tell 
who  have  been  baptized  and  confirmed,  and  who  have  not. 

The  first  Christians  carried  Christianity  over  all  the  pomp 
and  power  of  the  world  simply  by  the  unworldly  life  they 
lived.  Nobody  doubted  where  the  true  church  was  in  those 
days.  Christians  were  a  set  of  people  like  nobody  else  in  the 
world,  and  whenever  and  wherever  and  by  whatever  means 
that  kind  of  character  that  they  had  is  created,  it  will  have 
power. 

I  like  the  Episcopal  Church,  but  I  cannot  call  it  the  church 
till  I  see  evidences  that  it  answers  practically  the  purpose  of 
a  church  better  than  any  other.  For  my  part  I  go  to  hear  a 
dreadfully  heretical  preacher  on  Sunday,  who  lectures  in  a 
black-coat  in  a  hall,  simply  because  he  talks  to  me  on  points 
of  duty,  which  I  am  anxious  to  hear  discussed.  Eva,  poor 
child,  wears  down  her  health  and  strength  with  night  after 
night  in  society,  and  spends  all  her  money  on  dress ;  doing 
no  earthly  thing  for  any  living  creature,  except  in  the  pleas- 
ure-giving way,  like  a  bird  or  a  flower,  and  then  is  shocked 
and  worried  about  me  because  I  read  scientific  works  on 
Sunday. 

I  make  conscience  of  good  health,  early  hours,  thick 
shoes,  and  mental  and  bodily  drill,  and  subjection.  Please 
God,  I  mean  to  do  something  worthy  a  Christian  woman 
before  I  die,  and  to  open  a  path  through  which  weaker 
women  shall  walk  out  of  this  morass  of  fashion-slavery,  and 
subjection,  where  they  flounder  now.  I  take  for  my  motto 
that  sentence  from  one  of  Dr.  Johnson's  allegories  you  once 
read  to  us :  "  No  life  pleasing  to  God  that  is  not  useful  to 
man."  I  hope,  my  dear  friend,  I  shall  keep  the  spirit  of 
Christ,  though  I  wander  from  the  letter.  Such  words  as 
you  have  spoken  to  me,  however,  can  never  come  amiss. 
Perhaps  when  I  am  old  and  wiser,  like  many  another  self- 
confident  wanderer,  I  may  be  glad  to  come  back  to  my 
mother's  house,  and  then,  perhaps,  I  shall  be  a  stiff  little 
church- woman.  At  all  events  I  shall  always  be  your  loving 
and  grateful  pupil.  IDA. 


1'HE  GIRL  OF  OUR  PERIOD.  1*79 

[Eva  Van  Arsdel  to  Isabel  Convers.] 

My  Dear  JBelle :  Thanks  for  your  kind  letter  with  all  its 
congratulations  and  inquiries, — for  though  as  yet  I  have  no 
occasion  for  congratulation,  and  nothing  to  answer  to 
inquiry,  I  appreciate  these  all  the  same. 

No — Belle,  the  "old  sixpence  "is  not  gone  yet, — you  will 
have  to  keep  to  your  friend  a  while  longer.  I  am  not 
engaged,  and  you  have  full  liberty  to  contradict  that  report 
everywhere  and  anywhere. 

Mr.  Sydney  is,  of  course,  very  polite,  and  very  devoted, 
very  much  a  friend  of  the  family  and  all  that,  but  I  am  not 
engaged  to  him,  and  you  need  never  believe  any  such  thing 
of  me  till  you  hear  it  directly,  under  my  own  hand  and  seal. 

There  have  been  a  lot  of  engagements  in  our  set  lately. 
Lottie  Trevillian  is  going  to  marry  Sim  Carrington,  and 
Bessie  Somers  has  at  last  decided  to  take  old  Watkins — 
though  he  is  twenty-five  years  older  than  she, — and  then 
there's  Cousin  Maria  Elmore  has  just  turned  a  splendid 
affair  with  young  Livingstone,  really  the  most  brilliant 
match  of  the  winter.  I  am  positively  ashamed  of  myself, 
under  these  circumstances,  to  be  sitting  still,  and  unable 
to  report  progress.  My  old  infelicity  in  making  up-my 
mind  seems  to  haunt  me,  and  I  dare  say  I  shall  live  to  be  a 
dreadful  example. 

By  the  by,  I  have  had  a  curious  sort  of  an  adventure 
lately.  You  know  when  I  was  up  at  Englewood  visiting 
you  last  summer,  I  was  just  raving  over  those  sonnets  on 
Italy,  which  appeared  in  the  "Milky  Way"  over  the  signa- 
ture of  "  X."  You  remember  those  verses  on  "  Fra  Angelico  " 
and  the  "Campanile,"  don't  you?  Well,  I  have  found  out 
who  this  X  is.  It's  a  Mr.  Henderson  that  is  now  in  New 
York,  engaged  on  the  staff  of  '•  TJie  Great  Democracy.'1  We 
girls  have  noticed  him  once  or  twice  walking  with  Jim 
Fellows — (you  remember  Jim ;)  Jim  says  he  is  a  perfect 
hermit,  devoted  to  study  and  writing,  and  never  goes  into 
society.  Well,  wasn't  it  odd  that  the  fates  should  have 
thrown  this  hermit  just  in  my  way  *? 


180  MY  WIFE  AND  J. 

The  other  morning  I  came  over  from  Brooklyn,  where  I 
had  been  spending  three  days  with  Sophia,  and  when  I  got 
into  the  car  who  should  I  see  but  this  identical  Mr.  Hen- 
derson right  opposite  to  me.  I  took  a  quiet  note  of  him, 
between  whiles  thinking  of  one  or  two  lines  in  his  sonnet. 
He  is  nice-looking,  manly,  to  at  is,  and  has  fine  dark  eyes. 
"Well,  do  you  know,  the  most  provoking  thing,  when  I  came 
to  pay  my  fare  I  found  that  I  had  no  tickets  nor  small 
change — what  could  have  possessed  me  to  come  so  I  can't 
imagine,  and  mamma  makes  it  all  the  worse  by  saying  it's 
just  like  me.  However,  he  interposed  and  arranged  it  for 
me  in  the  nicest  and  quietest  way  in  the  world.  I  was  going 
up  to  call  at  Jennings',  the  other  side  of  the  Astor  House,  to 
see  about  my  laces,  but  by  the  time  we  got  there,  there 
came  on  such  a  rain  as  was  perfectly  dreadful.  My  dear,  it 
was  one  of  those  shocking  affairs  peculiar  to  New  York, 
which  really  come  down  by  the  bucketful,  and  I  had  nothing 
for  it  but  to  cross  Broadway  as  quick  as  I  could  to  catch  a 
Fifth  Avenue  omnibus,  and  let  my  lace  go  till  a  more  con- 
venient season. 

Well,  as  I  stepped  out  into  the  storm,  who  should  I 
find  quite  beside  me  but  this  gentleman,  with  his  umbrella 
over  my  head.  I  could  see  at  the  moment  that  it  had  one 
of  those  quaint  handles  that  they  carve  in  Dieppe.  We 
were  among  cars,  and  policemen,  and  trampling  horses,  and 
so  on,  but  he  got  me  safe  into  an  up-town  omnibus,  and  I 
felt  so  much  obliged  to  him. 

I  supposed,  of  course,  that  there  it  might  end,  but,  would 
you  believe  it,  quite  to  my  surprise,  he  got  into  the  omnibus 
too !  "After  all,"  I  said  to  myself,  "perhaps  his  route  lies  up 
town  like  mine."  He  wasn't  in  the  least  presuming,  and 
sat  there  very  quietly,  only  saying,  "Permit  me,"  as  he  passed 
up  a  ticket  for  me  when  the  fare  was  to  be  paid,  so  saving 
me  that  odious  necessity  of  making  change  with  my  great 
awkward  bill.  I  was  mortified  enough— but  knowing  who 
it  was,  had  a  sort  of  internal  hope  that  one  day  I  could  apo'o- 
gize  and  make  it  all  right,  for,  my  dear,  I  determined  on  the 


THE  GIRL  OF  OUR  PERIOD.  jgl 

spot  that  we  would  invite  him  to  our  receptions,  and  get 
Jim  Fellows  to  make  him  come.  I  think  there  is  no  test  of 
a  gentleman  like  the  manner  in  which  he  does  a  favor  for  a 
stranger  lady  whom  the  fates  cast  upon  his  protection.  So 
many  would  be  insufferably  presuming  and  assuming— he 
was  just  right,  so  quiet,  so  simple,  so  unpretentious,  yet  so 
considerate. 

He  rode  on  very  quietly  till  we  were  opposite  our  house, 
and  then  was  on  duty  again  with  his  umbrella,  up  to  the 
very  door  of  the  house,  and  holding  it  over  me  while  we 
were  waiting.  I  couldn't  help  expressing  my  thanks,  and 
asking  him  to  walk  in ;  but  he  excused  himself,  giving  his 
card,  and  saying  he  would  be  happy  to  call  and  inquire 
after  my  health,  etc. ;  aud  I  gave  him  mine,  with  our 
Wednesday  receptions  on  it,  and  told  him  how  pleased 
mamma  would  be  to  have  him  call.  It  was  all  I  could  do  to 
avoid  calling  him  by  his  name,  and  letting  him  see  how 
much  I  knew  about  him ;  but  I  didn't.  It  was  rather  awk- 
ward, wasn't  it  ? 

Now,  I  wonder  if  he  will  call  on  Wednesdays.  Jim  Fel- 
lows says  he  is  so  shy,  and  never  goes  out ;  and  you  know  if 
there  is  anything  that  can't  be  had,  that  is  the  thing  one  is 
wild  to  get ;  so  mamma  and  all  of  us  are  quite  excited,  and 
wondering  if  he  will  come.  Mamma  is  all  anxiety  to  apolo- 
gize, and  all  that,  for  the  trouble  I  have  given  him. 

It's  rather  funny,  isn't  it — an  adventure  in  prosaic  old 
New  York '?  I  dare  say,  now,  he  ban  forgotten  all  about  it, 
and  never  will  think  of  coming  into  such  a  trifling  set  as  we 
girls  are.  Well,  I  will  let  you  know  if  he  conies. 

Ever  your  affectionate  EVA. 


182  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 


CHAPTER     XVII. 

I  AM  INTRODUCED  INTO  SOCIETY. 

[OLTON  and  I  were  sitting,  up  to  our  ears  in  new 
books  which  had  been  accumulating  for  notice  for 
days  past,  and  which  I  was  turn  ing  over  and  dip- 
ping into  here  and  therewith  the  jaded,  half  -disgusted  air  of 
a  child  worn  out  by  the  profusion  of  a  Thanksgiving  dinner. 

"  I  feel  perfectly  savage,"  I  said.  "  What  a  never-ending 
harvest  of  trash  !  Two,  or  at  the  most,  three  tolerable 
ideas,  turned  and  twisted  in  some  novel  device,  got  up  in 
large  print,  with  wide  margins — and,  behold,  a  modern 
book !  I  would  like  to  be  a  black  frost  and  nip  them  all 
in  a  night !" 

"Your  dinner  didn't  agree  with  you,  apparently,"  said 
Bolton,  as  he  looked  up  from  a  new  scientific  work  he  was 
patiently  analyzing,  making  careful  notes  along  the  margin; 
"  however,  turn  those  books  over  to  Jim,  who  understands 
the  hop,  skip,  and  jump  style  of  criticism.  Jim  has  about  a 
dozen  or  two  of  blank  forms  that  only  need  the  name  of 
the  book  and  publisher  inserted,  and  the  work  is  done." 

"  What  a  perfect  farce,"  said  I. 

"The  notices  are  as  good  as  the  books,"  said  Bolton 
"  Something  has  to  be  said  to  satisfy  the  publishers  and  do 
the  handsome  thing  by  them ;  and  the  usual  string  of  com- 
mendatory phrases  and  trite  criticism,  which  mean  nothing 
in  particular,  I  presume  imposes  upon  nobody.  It  is  merely 
a  form  of  announcing  that  such  and  such  wares  are  in  the 
market.  I  fancy  they  have  very  little  influence  on  public 
opinion." 

"  But  do  you  think,"  said  I,  "  that  there  is  any  hope  of  a 
just  school  of  book  criticism — something  that  should  be  a 
real  guide  to  buyers  and  readers,  and  a  real  instruction  to 
writers  1" 


I  AM  INTRODUCED  INTO  SOCIETY.  133 

"That  is  a  large  question,"  said  Bolton,  "and -a  matter 
beset  with  serious  difficulties.  While  books  are  a  matter  of 
commerce  and  trade  ;  while  magazines  which  criticise  books 
are  the  property  of  booksellers,  and  newspapers  depend  on 
them  tor  advertising  patronage,  it  is  too  much  to  expect  of 
human  nature,  that  we  should  always  get  wholly  honest, 
unbiassed  opinions.  Then,  again,  there  is  the  haste,  and 
rush,  and  hurry  of  our  times,  the  amount  of  literary  drift- 
wood that  is  all  the  while  accumulating !  Editors  and  critics 
are  but  mortal  men,  and  men  kept,  as  a  general  thing,  in  the 
last  agonies  of  weariness  and  boredom.  There  is  not,  for 
the  most  part,  sensibility  enough  left  to  enable  them  to  read 
through  or  enter  into  the  purport  of  one  book  in  a  hundred; 
yet,  for  all  this,  you  do  observe  here  and  there  in  the  columns 
of  our  best  papers  carefully  studied  and  seriously  written 
critiques  on  books ;  these  are  hopeful  signs.  They  show  a 
conscientious  effort  on  the  part  of  the  writers  to  enter  into 
the  spirit  of  the  work,  and  to  give  their  readers  a  fair 
account  of  it ;  and,  if  I  mistake  not,  the  number  of  such  is 
on  the  increase." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  do  you  suppose  there  is  any  prospect  or 
possibility  of  a  constructive  school  of  criticism — honest,  yet 
kindly  and  sympathetic,  that  shall  lead  young  authors  into 
right  methods  of  perfecting  themselves  ?" 

"  We  have  a  long  while  to  wait  before  that  comes,"  said 
Bolton.  "  Who  is  appreciative  and  many-sided  enough  to 
guide  the  first  efforts  of  genius  just  coming  to  conscious- 
ness ?  How  many  could  profitably  have  advised  Hawthorne 
when  his  peculiar  Eembrandt  style  was  just  forming  7  As 
a  race,  we  Anglo  Saxons  are  so  self -sphered  that  we  lack 
the  power  to  enter  into  the  individuality  of  another  mind, 
and  give  profitable  advice  for  its  direction. 

"  English  criticism  has  generally  been  unappreciative  and 
brutal;  it  has  dissected  butterflies  and  humming-birds  with 
mallet  and  cleaver — witness  the  review  that  murdered 
Keats,  and  witness  in  the  letters  of  Charlotte  Bronte  the 
perplexity  into  which  sensitive,  conscientious  genius  was 


1  S4  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

tkrown  J>y  obstreperous,  conflicting  criticism.  The  most 
helpful,  because  most  appreciative  reviews,  she  says,  came 
to  her  from  France." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  I,  "  that  it  is  the  dramatic  element  in 
the  French  character  that  fits  them  to  be  good  literary  critics. 
They  can  enter  into  another  individuality.  One  would 
think  it  a  matter  of  mere  common  sense,  that  in  order  to 
criticise  justly  you  must  put  yourself  for  the  time  being  as 
nearly  as  possible  at  the  author's  point  of  sight;  form  a 
sympathetic  estimate  of  what  he  is  striving  to  do,  and  then 
you  can  tell  how  nearly  he  attains  his  purpose.  Of  this 
delicate  constructive  criticism,  we  have  as  yet,  it  seems  to 
me,  almost  no  specimens  in  the  English  language.  St. 
Beuve  has  left  models  in  French,  in  this  respect,  which  we 
should  do  well  to  imitate.  We  Americans  are  a  good- 
natured  set,  and  our  criticism  inclines  to  comity  and  good- 
fellowship  far  more  than  to  the  rude  bluntness  of  our  Eng- 
lish neighbors;  and  if  we  could  make  this  discriminating, 
as  well  as  urbane,  we  should  get  about  the  right  thing.'' 

Our  conversation  was  interrupted  here  by  Jim  Fellows, 
who  came  thundering  up-stairs,  singing  at  the  top  of  his 

lungs— 

"If  an  engine  meet  an  engine 

Comina:  round  a  curve,  — 
If  it  smash  both  train  and  tender, 

What  does  it  deserve  ? 
Not  a  penny— paid  to  any, 

So  far  as  1  observe—  " 

"  Gracious,  Jim  !  what  a  noise !"  said  1,  as  he  entered  the 
room  with  a  perfect  war-whoop  on  the  chorus. 

"Bless  my  soul,  man,  why  arn't  you  dresssing?     Arn't 
you  going  up  to  the  garden  of  Eden  with  me  to  night,  t  ; 
see  the  woman,  and  the  serpent,and  all  that  f  he  said,  col- 
laring me  without  ceremony;     "  Come  away  to  your  bower, 
and  curl  your  nut-brown  hair ;  for 
"  'Time  roils  along, 
Nor  waits  for  mortal  care  or  bliss, 
"We'll  take  our  staff  and  travel  on, 
Till  we  arrive  where  the  pretty  gals  is." 


1  AM.  INTRODUCED  INTO  SOCIETY.  i85 

And  tliUvS  singing,  Jim  whirled  me  down  the  stairs,  and  tum- 
bled me  into  my  room,  and  went  into  his.  where  I  heard  him 
accompanying  his  toilet  operations  with  very  loud  selec- 
tions from  the  last  comic  opera,  beating  time  with  his  hair- 
brush in  a  bewildering  manner. 

Jim  was  certainly  a  natural  curiosity  in  respect  to  the 
eternal,  unceasing  vivacity  of  his  animal  spirits,  which 
were  in  a  state  of  effervesence  from  morning  to  night,  froth- 
ing out  in  some  odd  freak  of  drollery  or  buffoonery.  There 
was  not  the  smallest  use  in  trying  remonstrance  or  putting 
on  a  sober  face  :  his  persistence,  and  the  endless  variety  of 
his  queer  conceits,  would  have  overcome  the  gravity  of  the 
saddest  hermit  that  ever  wore  sackcloth  and  ashes. 

Koltoii  had  become  accustomed  to  see  him  bursting 
into  his  room  at  all  hours,  with  a  breeze  which  fluttered  all 
his  papers;  and  generally  sat  back  resignedly  in  his  chair, 
and  laughed  in  helpless  good-nature,  no  matter  how  un- 
timely the  interruption.  ''Oh,  it's  Jim!"  ho  would  say, 
in  tones  of  comic  resignation.  "  It's  no  use ;  he  must  have 
his  fling!" 

"  Time's  up,"  said  Jim,  drumming  on  my  door  with  his 
hair-brush  when  his  toilet  was  completed.  "  Come  on, 
my  boy,  'Let  us  haste  to  Kelvyn  Grove.'" 

1  opened  my  door,  and  Jim  took  a  paternal  survey  of  me 
from  neck-cloth  to  boot-toe,  turning  me  round  and  inspects 
ing  me  on  all  sides,  as  if  I  had  been  a  Sunday-school  boy, 
dressed  for  an  exhibition. 

"Those  girls  have  such  confounded  sharp  eyes,"  he  re- 
marked, "  a  fellow  needs  to  be  well  got  up.  Yes,  you'll 
do ;  and  you're  not  bad  looking,  Hal,  either,  all  things  con- 
sidered," he  added,  encouragingly.  "Come  along.  I've  got 
lots  of  things  to  make  a  sensation  with  among  the  girls  to- 
night.' 

"What,  for  example1?" 

"Oh,  I've  been  investigating  round,  and  know  sundry 
little  interesting  particulars  as  to  the  new  engagement  just 
declared.  I  know  when  the  engagement  ring  was  got,  and 


1 86  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

what  it  cost,  and  where  the  bride's  jewels  are  making  up, 
and  what  they  are  to  be— all  secrets,  you  understand,  of  the 
very  deadest  door-nail  kind.  But  Jim  knows  them !  Oh, 
yes!— you'll  seethe  flutter  I'll  make  in  the  roost  to-night! 
I  say,  if  you  want  to  cultivate  your  acquaintance  with 
Miss  Eva  there,  I'll  draw  all  the  rest  off,  and  keep  'em 
so  wide  awake  round  me  that  they'll  never  think  what 
becomes  of  you." 

I  must  confess  to  feeling  not  a  little  nervous  in  the  pros- 
pect of  my  initiation  into  society,  and  regarding  with  a 
secret  envy  the  dashing,  easy  assurance  of  Jim.  I  called 
him  in  my  heart  something  of  a  coxcomb,  but  it  was  with  a 
half -a  mused  tolerance  that  I  allowed  him  to  patronize  me. 

The  experience  of  a  young  man  who  feels  that  he  has  his 
own  way  in  life  to  make,  and  all  whose  surroundings  must 
necessarily  ba  of  the  most  rigid  economy,  when  he  enters 
the  modern  sphere  of  young  ladyhood,  is  like  a  sudden 
change  from  Nova  Zembla  to  the  tropics.  His  is  a  world 
of  "patient  toil,  of  hard  effort,  of  diy  drudgery,  of  severe 
economies ;  while  our  young  American  princesses,  his  social 
equals,  whose  society  fascinates  Mm,  to  whose  acquaintance 
he  aspires,  live  like  the  fowls  of  the  air  or  the  lilies  of  the 
field,  without  a  thought  of  labor,  or  a  care,  or  serious  re- 
sponsibility of  any  kind.  They  are  "  gay  creatures  of  the 
element,"  living  to  enjoy  and  to  amuse  themselves,  to  be 
fostered,  sheltered,  dressed,  petted,  and  made  to  have  "good 
times"  generally.  In  England,  there  are  men  born  to  just 
this  life  and  position, — hereditary  possessors  of  wealth, 
ease,  and  leisure,  and  therefore  able  to  be  hereditary  idlers 
and  triflers— to  live  simply  to  spend  and  to  enjoy.  But  in 
America,  where  there  are  no  laws  to  keep  fortunes  in  certain 
families,  fortunes,  as  a  general  rule,  must  be  made  by  their 
possessors,  and  young  men  must  make  them.  The  young, 
unmarried  women,  therefore,  remain  the  only  aristocracy 
privileged  to  Jive  in  idleness,  and  wait  for  their  duties  to 
come  to  them. 

The  house  to  which  I  was  introduced  that  ni^ght  was  one 


AM  INTRODUCED  INTO  SOCIETY.  187 

of  those  New  York  palaces  that  are  furnished  with  eclectic 
taste,  after  a  survey  of  all  that  Europe  has  to  give.  The 
suites  of  rooms  opened  into  each  other  in  charming  vista, 
fjid  the  walls  were  hung  with  the  choicest  paintings.  It 
was  evident  that  cultured  skill  and  appreciation  had  pre- 
sided over  the  collection  of  the  endless  objects  of  artistic 
elegance  and  vertu  which  adorned  every  apartment :  it  was 
no  vulgar  display  of  wealth,  but  a  selection  which  must 
have  been  the  result  of  study  and  care. 

Jim,  acting  the  part  of  master  of  ceremonies,  duly  pre- 
sented me  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Van  Arsdel,  and  the  bevy  of 
young  ladies,  whose  eyes  twinkled  with  dangerous  merri- 
ment as  1  made  my  bow  to  them. 

Mr.  Van  Arsdel  was  what  one  so  often  sees  in  these  pala- 
ces, a  simple,  quiet,  silent  man,  not  knowing  or  caring  a 
bodle  about  any  of  the  wonders  of  art  and  luxury  with 
which  his  womankind  have  surrounded  him,  and  not  pretend- 
ing in  the  least  to  comprehend  them  ;  but  quietly  indulgent 
to  the  tastes  and  whims  of  wife  and  daughters,  of  whose 
superior  culture  he  is  secretly  not  a  little  proud. 

In  Wall  street  Mr.  Van  Arsdel  held  up  his  head,  and  found 
much  to  say ;  his  air  was  Napoleonic ;  in  short,  there  his 
foot  was  on  his  native  heath.  But  in  his  own  house,  among 
Cityps,  and  Freres,  and  Rembrandts,  and  Fra  Angelicos, 
with  a  set  of  polyglot  daughters  who  spake  with  tongues, 
he  walked  softly,  and  expressed  himself  with  humility,  like 
a  sensible  man. 

Mrs.  Van  Arsdel  had  "been  a  beauty  from  her  youth; 
had  come  of  a  family  renowned  for  belles,  and  was  still  a 
very  handsome  woman,  and,  of  course,  versed  in  all  those 
gentle  diplomacies,  and  ineffable  arts  and  crafts,  by  which 
the  sons  of  Adam  are  immediately  swayed  and  governed. 

Never  was  stately  swan  sailing  at  the  head  of  a  brood  of 
fair  .young  cygnets  more  competent  to  leadership  than  she 
to  marshal  her  troop  of  bright,  handsome  daughters  through 
the  straits  of  girlhood  to  the  high  places  of  matrimony. 
She  read,  and  classified,  and  ticketed,  at  a  glance,  every 


188  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

young  man  presented  to  her,  yet  there  was  not  a  shade  of 
the  scrutiny  dimming  the  bland  cordiality  of  her  reception. 
She  was  winning,  warming,  and  charming ;  fully  alive  to 
the  eclat  of  a  train  of  admirers,  and  to  the  desirableness 
of  keeping  up  a  brilliant  court. 

"Mr,  Henderson,"  she  said,  with  a  rich  mellow  laugh,  "I 
tell  Eva  there  is  some  advantage,  first  or  last,  in  almost 
everything.  One  of.  her  scatter-brained  tricks  has  brought 
us  the  pleasure  of  your  acquaintance." 

"Mamma  has  such  a  shocking  way  of  generalizing  about 
us  girls,"  said  Eva ;  "  If  we  once  are  caught  doing  a  thing 
she  talks  as  if  we  made  a  regular  habit  of  it.  Now,  I  have 
come  over  from  Brooklyn  hundreds  of  times,  and  never 
failed  to  have  the  proper  change  in  my  purse  till  this  once." 

"  I  am  to  regard  it,  then,  as  a  special  piece  of  good  for- 
tune, sent  to  meP  said  I,  drawing  somewhat  nearer,  as 
Mrs.  Van  Arsdsl  turned  to  receive  some  new  arrivals. 

I  had  occasion  this  evening  to  admire  the  facility  with 
which  Jim  fulfilled  his  promise  of  absorbing  to  himsc-lf  the 
attention  of  the  young  hostesses,  and  leaving  me  the  advan- 
tage of  a  tete -  a-tete  with  my  new  acquaintance.  I  could 
see  him  at  this  moment,  seated  by  Miss  Alice,  a  splendid, 
brilliant  brunette,  while  the  two  pretty  younger  sisters, 
not  yet  supposed  to  be  out,  were  seated  on  ottomans,  and 
all  in  various  stages  of  intense  excitement.  I  could  hear : 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Fellows,  now,  you  must  tell  us !  indeed  1  am 
quite  wild  to  know !  how  could  you  find  it  out  f  in  vari- 
ous, eager  tones.  Jim,  of  course*  Was  as  fully  aware  of  the 
importance  of  a  dramatic  mystery  as  a  modern  novel-writ- 
er, and  pursued  a  course  of  most  obdurate  provocation,  let- 
ting out  only  such  glimpses  and  sparkles  of  the  desired 
intelligence  as  served  to  inflame  curiosity,  and  hold  the 
attention  of  the  circle  concentrated  upon  himself. 

"I  think  you  are  perfectly  dreadful!  Oh,  Mr.  Fellows, 
it  really  is  a  shame  that  you  don't  tell  us,  real?y  now  I  shall 
break  friendship  with  you," — the  tones  here  became  threat- 
ening. Then  Jim  struck  a  tragic  attitude,  and  laid  his  hand 


/  AM  INTRODUCED  INTO  SOCIETY.  IQQ 

on  his  heart,  and  declared  that  he  was  a  martyr,  and 
there  was  more  laughing  and  such  a  chatter,  and  confusion 
of  tongues,  that  nothing  definite  could  be  made  out. 

The  length  of  time  that  young  people,  fiom  eighteen 
to  twenty,  and  even  upward,  can  keep  themselves  in  ecsta- 
cies  ot  excitement  with  such  small  stock  of  real  things  of 
any  sort  to  say,  is  something  that  invariably  astonishes 
old  and  sober  people,  who  have  forgotten  that  they  once 
wore  in  this  happy  age,  when  everything  made  them  laugh. 
There  was  soon  noise  enough,  and  absorption  enough, 
in  the  little  circle, — widened  by  the  coming  in  of  one  or  two 
other  young  men — to  leave  me  quite  unnoticed,  and  in  the 
background.  This  was  not  to  be  regretted,  as  Miss  Eva 
assumed  with  a  charming  ease  and  self-possession  that  role 
of  hospitality  and  entertainment,  for  which  I  fancy  our 
young  American  princess  has  an  especial  talent. 

"Do  you  know,  Mr.  Henderson,"  she  said,  "we  scarcely 
expected  you,  as  we  hear  you  never  go  out." 

"Indeed!"  said  I. 

"Oh,  yes!  your  friend,  Mr.  Fellows  there,  has  presented 
you  to  us  in  most  formidable  aspects— such  a  Diogenes !  so 
devoted  to  your  tub  !  no  getting  you  out  on  any  terms !" 

"I'm  sure,"  I  answered,  laughing,  "I  wasn't  aware  that 
I  had  ever  had  the  honor  of  being  discussed  in  your  circle 
at  all." 

"Oh,  indeed,  Mr.  Henderson,  you  gentlemen  who  make 
confidants  of  the  public  are  often  known  much  better  than 
you  know.  I  have  felt  acquainted  with  many  of  your 
thoughts  for  a  long  while." 

What  writer  is  insensible  to  such  flattery  as  this  ?  especially 
from  the  prettiest  of  lips.  I  confess  I  took  to  this  sort  of 
thing  kindly,  and  was  ready  if  possible  for  a  little  mo^e  of 
it.  I  began  to  say  to  myself  how  charming  it  was  to  find 
beauty  and  fashion  united  with  correct  literary  taste. 

"Now,"  she  said,  as  the  rooms  were  rapidly  filling,  "let 
me  show  you  if  I  have  not  been  able  to  read  aright  some  of 
your  tastes.  Come  into  what  I  call  my  'Italy.' "  She  lifted 


190  Mlr  WIFE  AND  L 

a  portiere  and  we  stepped  into  a  charming  little  boudoir, 
furnished  in  blue  satin,  whose  walls  were  finished  in  com- 
partments, in  each  of  which  hung  a  copy  of  one  of  Fra 
Angelico's  Angels.  Over  the  white  marble  mantel  was  a  su- 
perb copy  of  "  The  Paradise."  "  There,"  she  said,  turning 
to  me,  with  a  frank  smile,  "  am  I  not  right  f " 

"You  are,  indeed,  Miss  Van  Arsdel.  What  beautiful 
copies !  They  take  me  back  to  Florence." 

"See  here,"  she  added,  opening  a  velvet  case,  "here  is 
something  that  I  know  you  noticed,  for  I  read  what  you 
thought  of  it." 

It  was  au  exquisite  copy  of  that  rarest  little  gem  of  Fra 
Angelico's  painting,  "  The  Death-Bed  of  the  Virgin  Mary," 
— in  time  past  the  theme  of  some  of  my  verses,  which  Miss 
Van  Arsdel  thus  graciously  recalled. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "  the  only  drawback  when  one 
reads  poems  jthat  exactly  express  what  one  would  like  to 
say,  is  that  it  makes  us  envious ;  one  thinks,  why  couldn't  1 
have  said  it  thus  ?" 

"  Miss  Van  Arsdel,"  said  I,  "do  you  remember  the  lines  of 
Longfellow :  *  I  shot  an  arrow  through  the  air  *J " 

"  What  are  they  V  she  said. 

I  repeated  : 

"  I  shot  an  arrow  into  the  air, 
It  fell  to  earth,  I  knew  not  where ; 
For,  so  swiftly  it  flew,  the  sight 
Could  not  follow  it  in  its  flight. 

**  I  breathed  a  song  into  the  air, 
It  fell  to  earth,  I  knew  not  where ; 
For  who  has  sight  so  keen  and  strong, 
That  it  can  follow  the  flight  of  song? 

"  Long,  long  afterward,  in  an  oak 
I  found  the  arrow,  still  unbroke; 
And  the  song,  from  beginning  to  end, 
I  found  again  in  the  heart  of  a  friend." 

"  Do  you  know,"  I  said,  "  that  this  expresses  exactly  what 
a  poet  wants  f  It  is  not  admiration,  it  is  sympathy.  Poems 


I  AM  INTRODUCED  INTO  SOCIETY.  191 

are  test  papers,  put  in  the  atmosphere  of  life  to  detect  this 
property  ;  we  can  find  by  them  who  really  feel  with  us ;  and 
those  who  do,  whether  near  or  far,  are  friends.  The  making 
of  friends  is  the  most  precious  gift  for  which  poetic  utterance 
is  given." 

"  I  dorft  think,"  said  she,  "  you  should  say  '  make  friends? 
—friends  are  discovered,  rather  than  made.  There  are  peo- 
ple who  are  in  their  own  nature  friends,  only  they  don't 
know  each  other ;  but  certain  things  like  poetry,  music,  and 
painting,  arc  like  the  free-mason's  signs — they  reveal  the 
initiated  to  each  other." 

And  so  on  we  went,  deliciously  talking  and  ranging 
through  portfolios  of  engravings  that  took  us  through 
past  days ;  rambling  through  all  our  sunny  Italian  life,  up 
the  Campanile,  through  the  old  Daomo;  sauntering  through 
the  ilexes  of  the  Boboli  Garden;  comparing  notes  on  the 
pictures  in  the  Pitti  and  the  Belle  Arte— in  short,  we  had 
one  of  that  blessed  kind  of  times  which  come  v/hen  two 
enthusiasts  go  back  together  over  the  brightest  and  sunniest 
passages  of  their  experience. 

My  head  swam ;  a  golden  haze  was  around  me,  and  I  was 
not  quite  certain  whether  I  was  in  the  body  or  not.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  we  two  must  always  have  known  each 
other,  so  very  simple  and  natural  did  it  seem  for  us  to  talk 
together,  and  to  understand  one  another.  "  But,"  she  said, 
suddenly  checking  herself,  "  if  we  get  to  going  on  all  these 
things  there  is  no  end  to  it,  and  I  promised  sister  Ida  that  I 
would  present  you  in  her  study  to-night.1' 

"  Seems  to  me  it  is  so  very  delightful  here !"  said  I,  depre- 
catingly,  not  well  pleased  to  come  out  of  my  dream. 

"  Ah,  but  you  don't  know,  Mr.  Henderson,  this  proposed 
presentation  is  a  special  honor.  I  assure  you  that  this  is  a 
distinction  that  is  almost  never  accorded  to  any  of  our 
callers ;  you  must  know  sister  Ida  has  retired  from  the 
world,  and  given  herself  up  to  the  pursuit  of  wisdom,  and 
it  is  the  rarest  thing  on  earth  that  she  vouchsafes  to  care 
for  seeing  any  one." 


192  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

"  I  should  be  only  too  much  flattered,"  said  I,  as  I  followed 
my  guide  across  a  hall,  and  into  a  little  plainly  furnished 
study,  whose  air  of  rigid  simplicity  contrasted  with  the 
luxury  of  all  the  other  parts  of  the  house. 


THE  YOUNG  LADY  PHILOSOPHER.  193 


CHAPTER     XVIII. 

THE  YOUNG  LADY  PHILOSOPHER. 

JEATED,  reading  by  a  shaded  study-lamp,  was  a 
young  woman  of  what  I  should  call  the  Jeanie 
Deans  order-=-one  whose  whole  personal  appear- 
ance indicated  that  sort  of  compact,  efficient  union  of  ener" 
gy  and  simplicity  characteristic  of  the  Scottish  heroine. 
Her  hair,  of  a  pretty  curly  brown,  was  cut  short,  a  la  Rosa 
Bonheur;  her  complexion  glowed  with  asortof  a  wholesome 
firmness,  indicative  of  high  health  ;  her  large,  serious  grey 
eyes  had  an  expression  of  quiet  resolution,  united  with 
careful  observation.  Her  figure  inclined  to  the  short,  stout 
and  well-compacted  order,  which  gave  promise  of  vitality 
and  power  of  endurance— without  pretensions  to  beauty. 
There  was  a  wholesome,  thoughtful  cheerfulness  and  good 
humor  in  the  expression  of  the  face  that  made  it  decidedly 
prepossessing  and  attractive. 

The  furniture  of  the  room,  too,  was  in  contrast  with  all 
the  other  appointments  of  the  house.  It  was  old  and  worn, 
and  of  that  primitive  kind  that  betokened  honest  and 
respectable  mediocrity.  There  was  a  quaint,  old-fashioned 
writing-desk,  with  its  array  of  drawers  and  pigeon-holes; 
there  were  old  slippery  wooden  arm-chairs,  unrelieved  by 
cushions ;  while  the  floor  was  bare,  excepting  in  front  of 
the  fire,  where  it  was  covered  by  a  large  square  of  what  New 
England  housekeepers  call  rag-carpet.  The  room,  in  fact, 
was  furnished  like  the  sitting-room  of  an  old  New  England 
farm-house.  A  cheerful,  bountiful  wood-fire,  burning  on 
a  pair  of  old-fashioned  brass  andirons,  added  to  the  re- 
semblance. 

"  You  see,  Mr.  Henderson,"  said  Miss  Eva,  when  I  had 
1»  (  u  introduced  and  seated,  "you  are  now  in  the  presence 
of  Miss  Van  Arsdel  proper.  This  room  is  Papa's  and  Ida's 


1  94  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

joint  territory,  where  their  own  tastes  and  notions  have 
supreme  sway ;  and  so  you  see  it  is  sacred  to  the  memories 
of  the  past.  There  is  all  the  old  furniture  that  belonged  to 
papa  when  he  was  married.  Poor  man !  he  has  been  push- 
ed out  into  grandeur,  step  by  step,  till  this  was  all  that 
remained,  and  Ida  opened  an  asylum  for  it.  Do  you  know, 
this  is  the  only  room  in  the  house  Papa  cares  much  for.  You 
see,  he  was  born  on  a  farm,  dear  gentleman,  and  he  has  an 
inveterate  yearning  after  primitive  simplicity — huckleber- 
ries and  milk,  you  know,  and  all  that.  Don't  this  look 
like  the  old  ' keeping-room7  style1?" 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  it  looks  like  home.  I  know  rooms  just 
like  it." 

"  But  I  like  these  old  primitive  things,"  said  Ida.  "  I  like 
hardness  and  simplicity.  I  am  sick  to  death  of  softness 
and  perfumed  cushions  and  ease.  We  women  are  sweltered 
under  down  beds,  and  smothered  with  luxuries,  in  our  mod- 
ern day,  till  all  the  life  dies  out  of  us.  I  want  to  live  while 
I  live,  and  to  keep  myself  in  such  trim  that  I  can  do  some- 
thing—and I  won't  pet  myself  nor  ~be  petted." 

"  There,"  said  Eva,  laughing,  "  blood  will  tell ;  there's  the 
old  Puritan  broken  loose  in  Ida.  She  don't  believe  any  of 
their  doctrines,  but  she  goes  on  their  track.  She's  just  like 
a  St.  Bernard  dog  that  she  brought  home  once.  As  soon  as 
snow  came,  he  was  wild  to  run  out  and  search  in  it,  and  used 
to  run  off  whole  days  in  the  woods,  just  because  his  ances- 
tors were  trained  to  hunt  travelers.  Ida  is  as  bent  on  testi- 
fying and  going  against  the  world  as  any  old  Covenanter." 

"The  world  needs  going  against,"  said  Ida.  "By  the 
by,  Mr.  Henderson,  you  must  allow  me  to  thank  you  for 
your  article  on  the  'Woman  of  our  Times,'  in  the  Milky 
Way.  It  is  bracing,  and  will  do  good." 

"And  I,"  said  Eva,  kindling  with  a  sort  of  flame-like  vivac- 
ity, "  have  been  perfectly  dying  to  tell  you  that  you  don't 
know  us  fashionable  girls,  and  that  we  are  not,  after  all, 
such  poor  trash  as  you  seem  to  think.  All  the  out-of -joint- 
ness  of  society  is  not  our  fault." 


THE  YOUNG  LADY  PHILOSOPHER.  195 

"  I  protest,  Miss  Eva,"  said  I,  astonished  at  the  eagerness 
of  her  manner.  "  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  I  have  said  to 
give  that  impression." 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say  not.  You  have  only  used  the  good  stock 
phrases  and  said  the  usual  things.  You  reformers  and  mor- 
alists, and  all  that  have  got  a  way  of  setting  us  girls  down 
as  sinners  as  a  matter  of  course,  so  that  you  never  think 
•when  you  do  it.  The  '  Dolls  of  f ashion,'  the  '  Butterflies,' 
&c.,  &c.,  are  used  to  point  the  moral  and  adorn  the  tale. 
The  girl  of  the  period  is  the  scapegoat  for  all  the  naughty 
things  going.  Now,  I  say  the  girl  of  the  period  isn't  a  par- 
ticle worse  than  the  boy  of  the  period ;  and  I  think  reform- 
ers had  better  turn  their  attention  to  him." 

"But  I  don't  remember,"  said  I,  astonished  and  confused 
at  the  sudden  vivacity  of  this  attack,  "that  I  said  any- 
thing." 

"  Oh,  yes,  but  I  do.  You  see  it's  the  party  that's  hit  that 
knows  when  a  blow  is  struck.  You  see,  Mr.  Henderson,  it 
isn't  merely  you,  but  everybody,  from  the  London  Spectator 
down,  when  they  get  on  their  preaching-caps,  and  come 
forth  to  right  the  wrongs  of  society,  begin  about  us — our 
dressiness,  our  expensiveness,  our  idleness,  our  extrava- 
gance, our  heartlessness.  The  men,  poor,  dear  creatures, 
are  led  astray  and  ruined  by  us.  It's  the  old  story  of  Adam  : 
'  The  woman  beguiled  me.'" 

"  You  see,"  said  Ida,  laughing,  "Eva's  conscience  troubles 
her ;  that's  why  she's  so  sensitive." 

"  Well,  that's  the  truth,"  said  Eva.  "  I'm  in  the  world,  and 
Ida  has  gone  out  of  it;  and  so  she  can  sit  by,  all  serene,  when 
hits  are  made  at  us,  and  say, '  I  told  you  so.'  But,  you  see,  I 
am  in,  and  am  all  the  while  sure  that  about  half  what  thy 
say  of  us  is  true,  and  that  makes  me  sensitive  when  they 
say  too  much.  But,  I  insist  upon  it,  it  isn't  all  true;  and 
if  it  is,  it  isn't  our  fault.  We  are  in  the  world  just  as  we  are 
in  a  railroad-car,  and  we  can't  help  its  carrying  us  on,  even 
if  we  don't  like  the  places  it  takes  us  through." 

"  Unless  you  get  out  of  it,"  said  Ida. 


196  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

"Yes ;  but  it  takes  courage  to  get  out  alone,  at  some  deso- 
late way  station,  and  set  up  your  tent,  and  make  your  way* 
and  Lave  everybody  in  the  cars  screaming  remonstrances  or 
laughing  at  you.  Ida  has  the  courage  to  do  it,  but  I  haven't. 
I  don't  believe  in  myself  enough  to  do  it,  so  I  stay  in  the 
car,  and  wish  I  didn't,  and  wish  we  were  all  going  a  better 
way  than  we  do." 

"  No,"  said  Ida ;  "  women  are  brought  up  in  a  way  to 
smother  all  the  life  out  of  them.  All  literature  from  the 
earliest  ages  teaches  them  that  it  is  graceful  to  be  pretty 
and  helpless;  they  aspire  to  be  superficial  and  showy.  They 
are  directed  to  look  on  themselves  as  flowers — 

"  Gay  -without  toil,  and  lovely  without  art, 
They  spring  to  cheer  the  sense,  and  warm  the  heart ; 
Nor  blush,  my  fair,  to  be  compared  to  these— 
Your  best,  your  noblest  mission,  is  to  please." 

"  Well,"  said  Eva,  flushing,  "  wasn't  it  a  man  that  wrote 
thatf  and  don't  they  always  misunderstand  us?  We  are 
soft — we  are  weak — we  do  love  beauty,  and  ease,  and  com- 
fort; but  there  is  a  something  in  us  more  than  they  give 
us  credit  for.  Where  is  that  place  in  Carlylef  she  said, 
rising  with  a  hasty  impulse,  and  taking  down  a  volume, 
and  running  rapidly  over  the  leaves — "  Oh,  here  it  is !"  and 
she  read  with  energy  from  Carlyle's  Hero  Worship  : 

'It  is  a  calumny  to  say  that  men  are  nerved  to  heroic  action  by  ease, 
hope  of  pleasure,  recompense— sugar-plums  of  any  kind— in  this  ivorld 
or  the  next.  In  the  meanest  mortal  there  is  something1  nobler.  The 
poor,  swearing  soldier,  hired  to  be  shot,  has  his  honor  of  a  soldier  dif- 
ferent from  drill,  regulations,  and  the  shilling  a  day-  It  is  not  to  taste 
sweet  things,  but  to  do  noble  and  true  things,  and  vindicate  himself 
under  God's  heaven  as  a  God-made  man,  that  the  poorest  son  of  Adam 
dimly  longs.  Show  him  the  way  of  doing  that,  and  the  dullest  drudge 
kindles  into  a  hero. 

'They  wrong  man  greatly  who  say  he  is  to  be  seduced  by  ease. 
Difficulty,  abnegation,  martyrdom,  death,  are  allurements  that  act  on 
the  heart  of  man.  Kindle  the  inner  genial  life  of  him,  and  you  have 
a  flame  that  burns  up  all  lower  considerations.' 

"Now,"  she  said, her  face  glowing,  and  bringing  down  her 
little  fist  with  emphasis,  "  that  is  true  of  women  as  well  as 


THE   YOUNG  LADY  PHILOSOPHER.  197 

men.  They  wrong  woman  greatly  who  say  she  is  to  be 
seduced  by  ease.  Difficulty,  abnegation,  martyrdom,  death, 
arc  allurements  that  act  on  the  heart  of  woman.  Now,  Mr. 
Henderson,  every  woman  that  is  a  woman,  feels  this  in  the 
depths  of  her  heart,  and  it  is  this  feeling  suppressed  that  is 
at  the  bottom  of  a  great  deal  of  unhappiness  in  woman's 
life.  You  men  have  your  chance  to  express  it — that  is  your 
great  good  fortune.  You  are  called  to  be  heroes— your 
hour  comes— but  we  are  buried  under  eternal  common- 
places and  trifles." 

"Yet,  Miss  Eva,"  said  I,  "I  don't  think  we  are  so  very 
much  better  oft'  than  you.  The  life  of  the  great  body  of  men 
is  a  succession  of  mere  ignoble  drudgeries,  with  nothing 
great  or  inspiring.  Unless  we  learn  to  ennoble  the  com- 
mon-place by  a  heroic  spirit,  most  of  us  must  pass  through 
life  with  no  expression  of  this  aspiration;  and  I  think  that 
more  women  succeed  in  doing  this  than  men — in  fact,  I  think 
it  is  the  distinctive  prerogative  of  woman  to  idealize  life  by 
shedding  an  ennobling  spirit  upon  its  very  trifles." 

"  That  is  true,"  she  said,  frankly ;  "  but  I  confess  it  never 
occurred  to  me ;  yet  don't  you  think  it  harder  to  be  heroic 
in  every-day  affairs  ?" 

"  Certainly ;  but  those  that  can  inspire  common-place 
drudgery  with  noble  and  heroic  meanings  are  the  true 
heroes.  There  was  a  carpenter  once  in  Nazareth  who 
worked  thirty  years  quietly  at  his  bench ;  but  who  doubts 
that  every  stroke  of  that  work  was  inspired  and  heroic,  as 
much  as  the  three  public  years  that  followed  ?  And  there 
are  women,  like  him,  toiling  in  poverty — hard-working 
wives,  long-suffering  mothers,  whose  every  breath  is  heroic. 
There  can  be  no  common-place  where  such  noble  creatures 
live  and  suffer." 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Henderson,"  said  Ida,  "heroism  can  be  in  any 
life  that  is  a  worfc-life — any  life  which  includes  energy  and 
self-denial.  But  fashionable  life  is  based  on  mere  love  of 
on  so.  All  it  seeks  is  pleasurable  sensation  and  absence  of 
care  and  trouble,  and  it  starves  this  heroic  capability  ;  and 


198  MY  WIFE  AND  I: 

that  is  the  reason,  as  Eva  says,  why  there  is  so  much 
repressed  unhappiness  in  women.  It  is  the  hunger  of  starv- 
ing faculties.  What  are  all  these  girls  and  women  looking 
for  ?  Amusement,  excitement.  What  do  they  dread  more 
than  anything?  Effort,  industry,  self-denial.  Not  one  of 
them  can  read  a  serious  book  through— not  because  they 
are  not  able,  but  because  it  takes  an  effort.  They  read 
nothing  but  serial  stories,  and  if  there  is  much  thought  in 
them,  they  skip  it,  to  get  at  the  story.  All  the  education 
they  get  in  schools  lies  idle ;  they  do  nothing  with  it,  as  a 
general  thing.  They  neither  read,  write,  nor  speak  their 
French,  Italian,  or  German — and  what  is  the  use  of  having 
got  them  ?  Men  study  languages  as  a  key  to  literature,  and 
use  literature  for  some  purpose ;  women  study  only  to  for- 
get. It  does  not  take  four  languages  and  all  the  ologies  to 
enable  them  to  dance  the  German  and  compose  new  styles 
of  trimming.  They  might  do  all  they  do  equally  as  well 
without  these  expensive  educations  as  with — 

"  There  now,  you  have  got  sister  Ida  on  her  pet  topic/' 
said  Eva,  with  heightened  color;  "she  will  take  up  her 
prophecy  now,  and  give  it  to  us  wicked  daughters  of  Zion ; 
but,  after  all,  it  only  makes  one  feel  worried  and  bad,  and 
one  doesn't  know  what  to  do.  We  don't  make  the  world; 
we  are  born  into  and  find  it  ready  made.  We  find  certain 
things  are  customs — certain  things  are  expected  of  us — and 
we  begin  to  say  A,  and  then  we  must  say  B,  and  so  on 
through  the  whole  alphabet.  We  don't  want  to  say  B,  but 
we  must  because  we  have  said  A.  It  isn't  every  one  that  is 
brave  and  strong  enough  to  know  where  to  stop,  and  face  the 
world,  and  say,  'No,  I  will  not  do  it.'  We  must  keep  step 
with  our  neighbors/' 

'*  Well,"  said  Ida,  "  who  is  it  that  says, '  Be  not  conformed 
to  the  world7  ?  " 

"  Yes — 1  know,"  said  Eva ;  "  there's  the  Bible — there  are 
all  the  lessons  and  prayers  and  hymns  of  the  Church  all 
going  one  way,  and  our  lives  all  going  the  other — all  our 
lives—everybody's  life — even  nice  people's  lives — all  go  the 


THE  YO UNO  LADY  PHI L OSOPHER.  199 

other  way ;  except  now  and  then  one.  There's  our  new 
rector,  now,  he  is  beginning-  to  try  to  bring  us  up  to  live  as 
the  Church  directs  ;  but  mamma  and  Aunt  Maria,  and  all 
of  them,  cry  out  that  he  is  High  Church,  and  going  to 
Popery,  and  all  that ;  they  say  that  if  one  is  to  live  as  he 
says,  and  go  out  to  prayers  morning  and  evening,  and  to 
Holy  Communion  every  Sunday,  it  will  just  upset  our  whole 
plan  of  life,  that  one  might  as  well  go  into  a  convent — and 
so  it  will.  One  can't  be  in  parties  all  night,  and  go  to 
prayers  every  morning;  one  can't  go  through  that  awful 
Holy  Communion  every  Sunday,  and  live  as  we  generally 
do  through  the  week.  All  our  rector  is  trying  to  do,  is 
simply  to  make  a  reality  of  our  profession  ;  he  wants  us  to 
carry  out  in  good  faith  what  is  laid  down  in  the  Prayer- 
book;  but  you  see  we  can't  do  it  without  giving  up  the 
world  as  we  have  it  arranged  now.  For  my  part,  I'm  going 
to  the  daily  services  in  Lent,  if  I  don't  any  other  time, 
and  though  it  does  make  me  feel  dreadfully  wicked  and 
uncomfortable." 

"  Oh,  you  poor  child  !"  said  Ida  ;  "  why  haven't  you 
strength  to  do  as  you  please  f 

"Why  haven't  I  the  arm  of  a  blacksmith?  why  can't  I 
walk  ten  miles  ?  There  are  differences  of  power  in  mind 
as  well  as  body,"  said  Eva. 

The  conversation  was  interrupted  at  this  moment  by  Mr. 
Van  Arsdel,  who  entered  quietly,  with  his  spectacles  and 
newspapers. 

"  The  children  are  having  lively  times  in  there,"  he  said, 
"and  I  thought  I'd  just  come  here  and  sit  where  it's  quiet, 
and  read  my  papers." 

"  Papa  says  that  every  evening,"  said  Eva. 

"Well,  the  fact  is,  Mr.  Henderson,"  said  he,  with  a  confid- 
ing sort  of  simplicity,  "Ida  and  I  feel  at  home  in  here, 
because  it's  just  the  little  old  place  wife  and  I  had  when 
we  began.  You  see,  these  are  all  my  old  things  that  we 
first  went  to  housekeeping  with,  and  I  like  them.  I  didn't 
want  to  have  them  sent  off  to  auction,  if  they  are  old  and 
clumsy." 


200  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

"  And  he  should  have  them,  so  he  should,  Pa-sey  dear,"  said 
Eva,  caressingly,  putting  her  arm  round  his  neck.  "  But 
come,  Mr.  Henderson,  I  suppose  the  gay  world  outside  will 
expect  us." 

I  had  risen  and  was  looking  over  the  library.  It  was 
largely  composed  of  modern  scientific  and  physiological 
works. 

"You  see  my  light  reading,"  said  Ida,  with  a  smile. 

"  Ida's  books  are  a  constant  reproach  to  me,'7  said  Eva ; 
"  but  I  dip  in  now  and  then,  and  fish  up  some  wonderful 
pearl  out  of  them ;  however,  I  confess  to  just  the  fatal  lazi- 
ness she  reprobates — I  don't  go  through  anything." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Henderson,  we  won't  keep  you  from  the  world 
of  the  parlors,"  said  Ida ;  "  but  consider  you  have  the  entree 
here  whenever  you  want  a  quiet  talk;  and  we  will  be 
friends,"  she  said,  stretching  out  her  hand  with  the  air  of  a 
queen. 

"  You  honor  me  too  much,  Miss  Van  Arsdel,"  said  I. 

"  Come  now,  Mr.  Henderson,  we  can't  allow  our  principal 
literary  lion  to  be  kept  in  secret  places,"  said  Miss  Eva. 
"  You  are  expected  to  walk  up  and  down  and  show  your- 
self ;  there  are  half  a  dozen  girls  to  whom  I  have  promised 
to  present  you." 

And  in  a  moment  I  found  myself  standing  in  a  brilliant 
circle  of  gay  tropical  birds  of  fashion,  where  beauty,  or 
the  equivalent  of  beauty,  charmingness,  was  the  rule,  and 
not  the  exception.  In  foreign  lands,  my  patriotic  pride 
had  often  been  fed  by  the  enthusiasm  excited  by  my  coun- 
trywomen. The  beauty  and  grace  of  American  women 
their  success  in  foreign  circles,  has  passed  into  a  proverb ; 
and  in  a  Nevr  York  company  of  young  girls  one  is  really 
dazzled  by  prettiness.  It  is  not  the  grave,  grand,  noble  type 
of  the  Madonna  and  the  Venus  di  Milo,  but  the  delicate, 
brilliant,  distracting  prettiness  of  young  birds,  kittens, 
lambs,  and  flowers— something  airy  and  fairy— belonging 
to  youth  and  youthful  feeling.  You  see  few  that  promise  to 
ripen  and  wax  fairer  in  middle  life ;  but  almost  all  are  like 


THE  YOU  NO  LADY  PHILOSOPHER.  201 

delicate,  perfectly -blossomed  flowers— fair,  brilliant  ami 
graceful,  with  a  fragile  and  evanescent  beauty. 

The  manners  of  our  girls  have  been  criticised,  from  the 
foreign  standpoint,  somewhat  severely.  It  is  the  very  na- 
ture of  republican  institutions  to  give  a  sort  of  unconven- 
tional freedom  to  its  women.  There  is  no  upper  world  ot 
com!  and  aristocracy  to  make  laws  for  them,  or  press  down 
a  framework  of  etiquette  upon  them.  Individual  freedom 
of  opinion  and  action  pervades  every  school ;  it  is  breathed 
in  the  very  air,  and  each  one  is,  in  a  great  degree,  a  law  unto 
herself.  Every  American  girl  feels  herself  in  the  nobility' 
she  feels  adequate  to  the  situation,  and  perfectly  poised  in 
it.  She  dares  do  many  things  not  permitted  in  foreign 
lands,  because  she  feels  strong  in  herself,  and  perfectly  sure 
of  her  power. 

Yet  he  who  should  presume  on  this  frank  generosity  of 
manner,  will  find  that  Diana  has  her  arrows  ;  and  that  her 
step  is  free  only  because  she  knows  her  strength,  and  under- 
stands herself  perfectly,  and  is  competent  to  any  situation. 

At  present,  the  room  was  full  of  that  battledore-and-shut- 
tlecock  conversation,  in  which  everything  in  heaven  above 
or  earth  beneath  is  bantered  to  and  fro,  flitting  and  flying 
here  and  there  from  one  bright  lip  to  another. 

"  Now,  really  and  truly,  girls,  are  you  going  to  the  early 
services  this  Lent  ?  Oh,  Mr.  Selwyn  is  such  a  good  man  ! 
and  wasn't  his  Dastoral  letter  beautiful  ?  We  really  ought 
to  go.  But,  girls,  I  can't  get  up— indeed,  I  can't ;  do  you 
know,  it's  dreadful— seven  o'clock— only  think  of  it.  You 
won't  go,  Eva  V1 

"  Yes,  I  shall." 

'•  I  lay  you  a  pair  of  gloves  you  won't,  now,"  quoth  a 
mouth,  adorned  with  a  long  pair  of  waxed  moustaches  of  a 
true  Imperial  type. 

"  See  if  I  don't." 

•'  Oh,  mamma  says  I  mustn't  try,"  said  another ;  "  I  hav- 
en't the  strength." 

"  And  I  tell  Eva  she  can't  do  it,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Arsdel. 


202  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

"  Eva  is  always  over-doing ;  she  worked  herself  to  death  in 
a  mission  class  last  year.  The  fact  is,  one  can't  do  these 
things,  and  go  into  society." 

'*  But  what's  the  use  of  society,  mamma  f  said  Eva. 

"  Oh,  well ;  we  can't  all  turn  into  monks  and  nuns,  you 
know ;  and  that's  what  these  modern  High  Church  doings 
would  bring  us  to.  I'm  a  good,  old-fashioned  Episcopalian ; 
I  believe  in  going  to  church  on  Sundays— and  that's  all  we 
used  to  hear  about." 

"  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Fellows,  I  saw  you  at  St.  Alban's," 
said  Miss  Alice. 

*'  On  your  knees,  too,"  said  Miss  Eva. 

"  Do  you  believe  in  bowing  to  the  altar "?"  said  a  third ;  "  I 
think  itTs  quite  Popish." 

"  Gills,  what  are  going,  to  be  worn  for  hats  this  spring  "? 
have  you  been  to  Madame  De  Tullerigs  ?  I  declare  it's  a 
shame !  but  Lent  is  just  the  busiest  time  about  one's 
clothes ,  one  must  have  everything  ready  for  Easter,  you 
know.  How  do  you  like  the  new  colors,  Mr.  Fellows?" 

"  What '  the  hell-fire  colors  ?"  said  Jim. 

"Oh,  horrors!  You  dreadful  creature,  you  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  yourself!"  screamed  in  four  or  five  voices. 

"Am  ashamed— sackcloth  and  ashes,  and  all  that;  eat 
nothing  but  codfish,"  said  Jim.  "  But  that's  what  they 
call  'em,  any  way— hell-fire  colors." 

"  I  never  did  hear  such  a  profane  creature.  Girls,  isn't 
he  dreadful  ?" 

"  I  say,  Miss  Alice,"  said  Jim,  "  do  you  go  to  confession 
up  there  ?  'Cause,  you  see,  it  that  thing  is  getting  about,  I 
think  I'll  turn  priest." 

"  I  think  you  ought  to  go  to  confession,"  said  she. 

"  I  shall  in  the  good  times  coming,  when  we  have  lady 
priests." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Henderson,  do  you  believe  in  women's  rights  ?" 

"  Certainly." 

"  Well,  for  my  part,  I  have  all  the  rights  I  want,"  said  Miss 
Alice. 


THE  YOUNG  LADY  PHILOSOPHER.  203 

"  I  should  think  you  did,"  said  Jim  Fellows ;  "  but  it's 
hard  on  us.1' 

'•  Well,  I  think  that  is  all  infidelity,"  said  another; — "goes 
against  the  Bible.  Do  you  think  women  ought  to  speak  in 
public  r 

"  Ristori  and  Fanny  Kemble,  for  instance,"  said  I. 

"  Oh,  well— they  are  speaking  other  people's  words ;  but 
their  own  ?" 

"  Why  not  as  well  as  in  private  !" 

"Oh,  because— why,  I  think  it's  dreadful ;  don't  you!" 

"  I  can't  perceive  why.  I  am  perfectly  charmed  to  hear 
women  speak,  in  public  or  private,  who  tave  anything  good 
or  agreeable  to  say." 

"  But  the  publicity  is  so  shocking !" 

"  Is  it  any  more  public  than  waltzing  at  the  great  public 
balls?" 

"  Oh,  well,  I  think  lecturing  is  dreadful;  you'll  never  con- 
vince me.  I  hate  all  those  dreadful,  raving,  tearing,  stram- 
ming  women." 

In  which  very  logical  and  consecutive  way  the  leading 
topics  of  the  age  were  elegantly  disposed  of ;  and  at  eleven 
o'clock  I  found  myself  out  on  the  pavement  with  the  inex- 
haustible Jim,  who  went  singing  and  whistling  by  my  side 
as  fresh  as  a  morning  blackbird.  My  head  was  in  a  pretty 
thorough  whirl ;  but  I  was  initiated  into  society, — to  what 
purpose  shall  hereafter  appear. 


204  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

FLIRTATION. 

]OOK  there,"  said  Jim  Fellows,  throwing  down  a 
pair  of  Jouvin's  gloves.  "There's  from  the 
divine  Alice." 

"A  present?" 

"  A  philopena." 

"  Seems  to  me,  Jim,  you  are  pushing  your  fortunes  in  that 
quarter  ?" 

"  Yes ;  having  a  gay  time !  Adoring  at  the  shrine  and  all 
that,"  said  Jim.  "  The  lovely  Alice  is  like  one  of  the  Ma- 
donna pictures — to  be  knelt  to,  sworn  to,  vowed  to — but  I 
can't  be  the  possessor.  In  the  meanwhile,  let's  have  as  good 
a  time  as  possible.  We  have  the  very  best  mutual  under- 
standing. I  am  her  sworn  knight,  and  wear  her  colors — 
behold!" 

And  Jim  opened  his  coat,  and  showed  a  pretty  knot  of 
carnation-colored  ribbon. 

"  But,  I  thought,  Jim,  you  talked  the  other  night  as  if  you 
could  get  any  of  them  you  wanted  ?" 

"Who  says  I  couldn't,  man?  Does  not  the  immortal 
Shakespeare  say,  '  She  is  a  woman ;  therefore  to  be  won '? 
You  don't  go  to  doubting  Shakespeare  at  this  time  of  day,  I 
hope?" 

"Well,  then— " 

"Well,  then ;  you  see  Hal,  we  get  wiser  every  day — that 
is,  I  do— and  it  begins  to  be  borne  in  on  my  mind  that  these 
rich  girls  won't  pay,  if  you  could  get  them.  The  game  isn't 
worth  the  candle." 

"But  there  is  real  thought  and  feeling  and  cultivation 
among  them,"  said  I,  taking  up  the  gauntlet  with  energy. 

"  So  there  is  real  juice  in  hot-house  grapes ;  but  if  I  should 
have  a  present  of  a  hot-house  to-morrow,  what  should  I 


FLIRTATION.  205 

have  to  run  it  with1?  These  girls  have  the  education  of 
royal  princesses,  and  all  the  habits  and  wants  of  them ;  and 
what  could  a  fellow  do  with  them  if  he  got  them?  We 
haven't  any  Parliament  to  vote  dowries  to  keep  them  up 
on.  I  declare,  I  wish  you  had  heard  those  girls  the  other 
night  go  on  about  that  engagement,  and  what  they  expected 
when  their  time  comes.  Do  you  know  the  steps  of  getting 
engaged1?" 

"  I  cannot  say  I  have  that  happiness,"  said  I. 

"  Well,  first,  there's  the  engagement-ring,  not  a  sign  of 
love,  you  understand,  but  a  thing  to  be  discussed  and  com- 
pared with  all  the  engagement-rings,  past,  present,  and  to 
come,  with  Tom's  ring,  and  Dick's  ring,  and  Harry's  ring. 
If  you  could  have  heard  the  girls  tell  over  the  prices  of 
the  different  engagement-rings  for  the  last  six  months,  and 
bring  up  with  Rivington's,  which,  it  seems,  is  a  solitaire 
worth  a  thousand !  Henceforth  nothing  less  is  to  be  thought 
of.  Then  the  wedding  present  to  your  wife.  Rivington 
gives  $30,000  worth  of  diamonds.  Wedding  fees,  wedding 
journey  to  every  expensive  place  that  can  be  thought  of, 
you  ought  to  have  a  little  fortune  to  begin  with.  The 
lovely  creatures  are  perfectly  rapacious  in  their  demands 
under  these  heads.  I  heard  full  lists  of  where  they  were 
going  and  what  they  wanted  to  have.  Then  comes  a  house, 
in  a  fashionable  quarter,  to  the  tune  of  fifty  thousand  dol- 
lars; then  furniture,  carriages,  horses,  opera-boxes.  The 
short  of  the  matter  is,  old  Van  Arsdel's  family  are  having  a 
jolly  time  on  the  income  of  a  million.  There  are  six  of 
them,  and  every  one  wants  to  set  up  in  life  on  the  same  in- 
come. So,  you  see,  the  sum  is  how  to  divide  a  million  so 
as  to  make  six  millions  out  of  it.  The  way  to  do  it  is  plain. 
Each  son  and  daughter  must  marry  a  million,  and  get  as 
much  of  a  man  or  woman  with  it  as  pleases  heaven." 

"  And  suppose  some  of  them  should  love  some  man,  or 
woman,  more  than  gold  or  silver,  and  choose  love  in  place  of 
money  ?"  said  I. 

"Well,"  said  Jim,  "  that's  quite  supposable ;  any  of  these 


206  3fF  WIFE  AND  I. 

girls  is  capable  of  it.  But  after  all,  it  would  be  rough  on  a 
poor  girl  to  take  her  at  her  word.  What  do  they  know 
about  it  ?  The  only  domestic  qualification  the  most  practi- 
cal of  them  ever  think  of  attaining,  is  how  to  make  sponge- 
cake. I  believe,  when  they  are  thinking  of  getting  married, 
they  generally  make  a  little  sponge-cake,  and  mix  a  salad 
dressing,  that  fits  them  for  the  solemn  and  awful  position  of 
wife  and  mother,  which  you  hear  so  much  about.  Now,  the 
queenly  Alice  is  a  splendid  girl,  and  can  talk  French  and 
German  and  Italian  ;  but  her  knowledge  of  natural  history 
is  limited.  I  imagine  she  thinks  gloves  grow  in  packs  on 
the  trees,  and  artificial  flowers  are  raised  from  seed,  and 
dresses  develop  by  uniform  laws  of  nature  at  the  rate  of 
three  or  four  a  month.  If  you  could  get  the  darling  to  fly  to 
your  arms,  and  the  old  gentleman  should  come  'round,  and 
give  her  what  he  could  aiford,  how  could  you  console  her 
when  she  finds  out  the  price  of  gloves  and  gaiter-boots,  and 
all  the  ordinary  comforts'?  I'm  afraid  the  dear  child  will 
be  ready  to  murder  you  for  helping  her  to  her  own  way. 
So  you  see,  Jim  doesn't  invest  in  engagement-rings  this 
year." 
Thereupon  I  sung : 

"  A  sly  old  fox  one  day  did  spy, 
A  bunch  of  grapes  that  hung  so  high,"  &c. 

"  Sing  away,  my  good  fellow,"  said  Jim.  "Maybe  I  am 
the  fox ;  but  I'm  a  fox  that  has  cut  his  eye-teeth.  I'm  too 
cute  to  put  my  neck  in  that  noose,  you  see.  No.  sir;  you 
can  mention  to  Queen  Victoria  that  if  she  wants  Jim  Fel- 
lows to  marry  one  of  her  daughters,  why  Parliament  has  got 
to  come  down  handsomely  with  dowry  to  keep  her  on. 
They  are  worth  keeping,  these  splendid  creations  of  nature 
and  art;  but  it  takes  as  much  as  to  run  a  first-class  steamer. 
They  go  exactly  in  the  line  of  fine  pictures  and  statuary, 
and  all  that.  They  may  be  adorable  and  inspiring,  and  ex- 
alting and  refining  and  purifying,  the  very  poetry  of  exist- 
ence, the  altogether  lovely ;  but,  after  all,  it  is  only  the  rich 


FLIRTATION.  207 

that  can  afford  to  keep  them.  A  wife  costs  more  in  our  day 
than  a  carriage  or  a  conscience,  and  both  those  are  luxuries 
too  expensive  for  Jim." 

"  Jim !  Jim ! !  Jim ! ! !"  I  exclaimed,  in  tones  of  expostit- 
iou ;  but  the  impracticable  Jim  cut  a  tall  pirouette,  and 
sung, 

"  My  old  massa  told  me  so, 
Best  looking  nigger  in  the  country,  O I 
I  looked  in  the  glass  and  I  found  it  ko—o—o—O—0." 

The  crescendo  here  made  the  papers  nutter,  and  created  a 
lively  breeze  in  the  apartment. 

"  And  now,  farewell,  divinest  Alice,  Jim  must  go  to  work. 
Let's  see.  Oh !  I've  promised  a  rip-staving  skinner  on  Tom 
Brown  in  that  Custom  House  affair." 

"  What  is  that  business  ?  What  has  Brown  done  ?  If  all  is 
true  that  is  alleged  he  ought  to  be  turned  out  of  decent 
society." 

"  Oh  pshaw !  you  don't  understand ;  its  nothing  but  a  dust 
we're  kicking  up  because  its  a  dry  time.  Brown's  a  good 
fellow  enough,  I  dare  say,  but  you  know  we  want  to  sell  our 
papers  and  these  folks  want  hot  hash  with  their  breakfast 
every  morning,  and  somebody  has  got  to  be  served  up.  You 
see  the  Seven  Stars  started  this  story,  and  sold  immense- 
ly, and  we  come  in  on  the  wave ;  the  word  to  our  paper  is 
'  pitch  in '  and  so  I'm  pitching  in." 

"  But,  Jini,  is  it  the  fair  thing  to  do  when  you  don't 
know  the  truth  of  the  story  f 

"  The  truth  I  well,  my  dear  fellow,  who  knows  or  cares 
anything  about  truth  in  our  days?  We  want  to  sell  our 
papers." 

"And  to  sell  your  papers  you  will  sell  your  honor  as 
a  man  and  a  gentleman." 

"  Oh  !  bother,  Hal,  with  your  preaching." 

"  But,  Jim,  you  ought  to  examine  both  sides  and  know  the 
truth." 

"  I  do  examine ;  generally  write  on  both  sides  when  these 
rows  come  on.  I'm  going  to  defend  Brown  in  the  Forum  ; 


208  MT  WIFE  AND  I. 

you  see  they  sent  round  yesterday  for  an  article,  so  you  see 
Jim  makes  his  little  peculium  both  ways." 
"  Jim,  is  that  the  square  thing  f 

"Why  not  ?  It  would  puzzle  the  Devil  himself  to  make  out 
what  the  truth  is  in  one  of  our  real  double  and  twisted  New 
York  newspaper  rows.  I  don't  pretend  to  do  it,  but  I'll 
show  up  either  side  or  both  sides  if  I'm  paid  for  it.  We 
young  men  must  live !  If  the  public  must  have  spicery  we 
must  get  it  up  for  them.  We  only  serve  out  what  they 
order.  I  tell  you,  now,  what  this  great  American  people 
wants  is  a  semi-occasional  row  about  something,  no  matter 
what;  a  murder,  or  a  revival,  or  a  great  preacher,  or  the 
Black  Crook ;  the  Lord  or  the  Devil,  anything  to  make  mat 
ters  lively,  and  break  up  the  confounded  dull  times  round 
in  the  country." 

"  And  so  you  get  up  little  personal  legends,  myths,  about 
this  or  that  man  f ' 

"  Exactly,  that's  what  public  men  are  good  for.  They  are 
our  drums  and  tamborines ;  we  beat  on  'em  to  amuse  the 
people  and  make  a  variety ;  nobody  cares  for  anything 
more  than  a  day;  they  forget  it  to-morrow,  and  something 
else  turns  up." 

"And  you  think  it  right,"  said  I,  "to  use  up  character 
just  as  you  do  boot-blacking  to  make  your  boots  shine? 
How  would  you  like  to  be  treated  so  yourself  ?" 

"  Shouldn't  mind  it  a  bit — Bless  ycur  buttons — it  don't  hurt 
anybody.  Nobody  thinks  the  worse  of  them.  Why,  you 
could  prove  conclusively  that  any  of  our  public  men  break 
the  whole  ten  commandments  at  a  smash — break  'em  for 
breakfast,  dinner  and  supper,  and  it  wouldn't  hurt  'em. 
People  only  oh  and  ah  and  roll  up  their  eyes  and  soy  "  Ter- 
rible !"  and  go  out  and  meet  him,  and  it's  "  My  dear  fellow 
how  are  you?  why  haven't  you  been  round  to  our  house 
lately?"  By  and  by  they  say,  "Look  here,  we're  tired  of 
this  about  Brown,  give  us  more  variety."  Then  Jones  turns 
up  and  oft*  go  the  whole  pack  after  Jones.  That  keeps 
matters  lively,  you  see." 


FLIRTATION.  209 

I  laughed  and  Jim  was  perfectly  satisfied.  All  that  he 
ever  wanted  in  an  argument  was  to  raise  a  laugh,  and  he 
was  triumphant,  and  went  scratching  on  with  his  work  with 
untiring  industry.  He  always  left  me  with  an  uneasy  feel- 
ing, that  by  laughing  and  letting  him  alone  I  was  but  half 
doing  my  duty,  and  yet  it  seemed  about  as  feasible  to 
present  moral  considerations  to  a  bob-o-link. 

"There,"  he  said,  after  half  an  hour  of  scribbling, 
"  there's  so  much  for  old  Mam."  • 

"Who's  old 'Mam7?" 

"  Haven't  heard !  why,  your  mistress  and  mine,  the  old 
Mammon  of  unrighteousness ;  she  is  mistress  of  all  things 
here  below.  You  can't  even  carry  on  religion  in  this  world 
but  through  her.  You  must  court  old  Mam,  or  your 
churches,  and  your  missions,  and  all  the  rest  go  tinder,  and 
Jim  works  hard  for  her,  and  she  owes  him  a  living." 

"There  have  been  men  in  our  day  who  prevailed  in 
spite  of  her." 

"  Who,  for  example  ?" 

"Garrison." 

"  Well,  he's  top  of  the  heap  now,  sure  enough,  but  I  tell 
you  that  was  a  long  investment.  Jim  has  to  run  on  ready 
cash  and  sell  what's  asked  for  now.  I  stand  at  my  counter, 
"  Walk  up,  gentlemen,  what'll  you  take ;  orders  taken  and 
executed  with  promptness  and  despatch.  Religion  ?  yes  sir. 
Here's  the  account  of  the  work  of  Divine  grace  in  Skowhe- 
gan;  fifty  awakened  and  thirty -nine  indulging  in  hope. 
Here's  criticism  on  Boanerges'  orthodoxy,  showing  how  he 
departs  from  the  great  vital  doctrines  of  grace,  giving  up 
Hell  and  all  the  other  consolations  of  our  holy  religion. 
We'll  serve  you  out  orthodoxy  red  hot.  Anything  in  this 
line?  Here's  the  latest  about  sweet  little  Dame  Aux  Ca- 
melias,  and  lovely  little  Kitty  Blondine. 

'  Oh  I  Kitty  is  my  darling,  my  darling,  my  darling,  etc.' 

And  here's  the  reformatory,  red  hot,  hit  or  miss,  here's  for 
the  niggers  and  the  paddies  and  the  women  and  all  the 


210  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

enslaved  classes.  Jim  will  go  it  for  any  of  them,  only  give 
him  Ms  price.'  I  think  of  getting  np  a  show  bill  with  list  of 
prices  affixed.  Jim  will  run  anybody  up  or  run  anybody 
down  to  order." 

I  put  my  hand  over  his  mouth.  "  Come,  you  born  magpie, ' 
said  I,  "  you  shan't  make  yourself  out  so  much  worse  than 
you  are." 


Van  Arsdel  to  Isabel  Convers.] 

My  Dear  Belle : — I  told  you  I  would  write  the  end  of  my 
little  adventure,  and  whether  the  "hermit"  comes  or  not. 
Yes,  my  dear,  sure  enough,  he  did  come,  and  mamma  and 
we  all  like  him  immensely ;  he  had  really  quite  a  success 
among  us.  Even  Ida,  who  never  receives  calls,  was  gracious 
and  allowed  him  to  come  into  her  sanctum  because  he  is  a 
champion  of  the  modern  idea  about  women.  Have  you  seen 
an  article  in  the  "Milky  Way11  on  the  "Women  of  our 
Times,"  taking  the  modern  radical  ground?  "Well,  it  was 
by  him ;  it  suited  Ida  to  a  hair,  but  some  little  things  in 
it  vexed  me  because  there  was  a  phrase  or  two  about  the 
"fashionable  butterflies,"  and  all  that;  that  comes  a  great 
deal  too  near  the  truth  to  be  altogether  agreeable.  I  don't 
care  when  Ida  says  such  things,  because  she's  another 
woman,  and  between  ourselves  we  know  there  is  a  deal  of 
nonsense  current  among  us,  and  if  we  have  a  mind  to 
talk  about  it  among  ourselves,  why  its  like  abusing  one's 
own  relations  in  the  bosom  of  the  family,  one  of  the  sweetest 
domestic  privileges,  you  know;  but,  when  lordly  man 
begins  to  come  to  judgment  and  call  over  the  roll  of  our 
sins,  1  am  inclined  to  tell  him  to  look  at  home,  and  to  say, 
"Pray,  what  do  you  know  about  us  sir?"  I  stand  up  for  my 
sex,  right  or  wrong ;  so  you  see  we  had  a  spicy  little  contro- 
versy, and  I  made  the  hermit  open  his  eyes,  (and,  between 
us,  he  has  handsome  eyes  to  open).  He  looked  innocently 
astonished  at  first  to  be  taken  up  so  briskly,  and  called  to 
account  for  his  sayings.  You  see  the  way  these  men  have 


FLIRTATION.  211 


of  going  on  and  talking  without  book  about  us  quite  blinds 
tbeni ;  they  can  set  us  down  conclusively  in  the  abstract 
when  they  don't  see  us  or  hear  us,  but  when  a  real  live  girl 
meets  them  and  asks  an  account  of  their  sayings  they 
begin  to  be  puzzled.  However^  I  must  say  my  lord  can 
talk  when  he  fairly  is  put  up  to  it.  He  is  a  true,  serious, 
earnest-hearted  man,  and  does  talk  beautifully,  and  his 
eyes  speak  when  he  is  silent.  The  forepart  of  the  even- 
ing, you  see  we  were  in  a  state  of  most  charming  agree- 
ment ;  he  was  in  our  little  "  Italy,"  and  we  had  the  nicest 
of  times  going  over  all  the  pictures  and  portfolios  and  the 
dear  old  Italian  life ;  it  seems  as  if  we  had  both  of  us  seen, 
and  thought  of,  and  liked  the  same  things— it  was  really 
curious ! 

Well,  like  enough,  that's  all  there  is  to  it.  Ten  to  one  he 
never  will  call  again.  Mamma  invited  him  to  be  here  every 
Wednesday,  quite  urged  it  upon  him,  but  he  said  his  time 
was  so  filled  up  with  icork.  There  you  see  is  where  men 
have  the  advantage  of  girls  !  They  have  something  defin- 
ite to  fill  up  their  time,  thought  and  hearts ;  we  nothing,  so 
we  think  of  them  from  sheer  idleness,  and  they  forget  us 
through  press  of  business.  Ten  to  one  he  never  calls  here 
again.  Why  should  he?  I  shouldn't  think  he  would.  J 
wouldn't  if  I  were  he.  He  isn't  a  dancing  man,  nor  an  idler, 
but  one  that  takes  life  earnestly,  and  after  all  I  dare  say 
he  thinks  us  fashionable  girls  a  sad  set.  But  I'm  sure  he 
must  admire  Ida ;  and  she  was  wonderfully  gracious  for 
her,  and  gave  him  the  entree  of  her  sanctum,  where  there 
never  are  any  but  rational  sayings  and  doings. 

Well,  we  shall  see. 

I  am  provoked  with  what  you  tell  me  about  the  reports  of 
my  engagement  to  Mr.  Sydney,  and  I  tell  you  now  once 
again  "No,  no."  I  told  you  in  my  last  that  I  was  not  enga- 
ged, and  I  now  tell  you  what  is  more  that  I  never  can,  shall 
or  will  be  engaged  to  him  ;  my  mind  is  made  up,  but  how  to 
get  out  of  the  net  that  is  closing  round  me  I  don't  see. 
I  think  all  these  things  are  "  perplexing  and  disagreeable." 


21  2  MY  WIFE  AND  1. 

If  a  girl  wants  to  do  the  fair  thing  it  is  hard  to  kno\v  how. 
First  you  refuse  outright,  and  then  my  lord  comes  as  a 
friend.  Will  you  only  allow  him  the  liberty  to  try  and 
alter  your  feelings,  and  all  that  ?  You  shall  not  be  forced ; 
he  only  wants  you  to  get  more  acquainted,  and  the  result  is 
you  go  on  getting  webbed  and  meshed  iii  day  after  day 
more  and  more.  You  can't  refuse  flowers  and  attentions 
offered  by  a  friend;  if  you  take  them  you  may  be  quite 
sure  they  will  be  made  to  mean  more.  Mamma  and  Aunt 
Maria  have  a  provoking  way  of  talking  about  it  constantly 
as  a  settled  thing,  and  one  can't  protest  from  morning  till 
night,  apropos  to  every  word.  At  first  they  urged  me  to 
receive  his  attentions;  now  they  are  saying  that  I  have  ac- 
cepted BO  many  I'  can't  honorably  withdraw.  And  so  he 
doesn't  really  give  me  an  opportunity  to  bring  the  matter 
to  a  crisis ;  he  has  a  silent  taking-f  or-granted  air,  that  is 
provoking.  But  the  law  that  binds  our  sex  is  the  law  of 
all  ghosts  and  spirits  ;  we  can't  speak  till  we  are  spoken  to ; 
meanwhile  reports  spread,  and  people  say  hateful  things  as 
if  you  were  trying  and  failing.  How  angry  that  makes  me ! 
One  is  almost  tempted  sometimes  to  accept  just  to  show 
that  one  can  ;  but,  seriously,  dear  Belle,  this  is  wicked  tri- 
fling. Marriage  is  an  awful,  a  tremendous  thing,  and  we  of 
the  church  are  without  excuse  if  we  go  into  it  lightly  or 
unadvisedly,  and  I  never  shall  marry  till  I  see  the  man  that 
is  my  fate.  I  have  what  mamma  calls  domestic  ideas,  and 
I'm  going  to  have  them,  and  when  I  marry  it  shall  be  for 
the  man  alone,  not  a  pieced  up  affair  of  carriages,  horses, 
diamonds,  opera  boxes,  cashmeres  with  a  man,  but  a  man 
for  whom  all  the  world  were  well  lost ;  then  I  sball  not  be 
afraid  of  the  church  service  which  now  stands  between  me 
and  Mr.  Sydney.  I  cannot,  I  dare  not  lie  to  God  and  swear 
falsely  at  the  altar,  to  gain  the  whole  world. 

1  wish  you  could  bear  our  new  rector.  He  is  making  a 
sensation  among  us.  If  the  life  he  is  calling  on  us  all  to 
live  is  the  real  and  true  one,  we  shall  soon  have  to  choose 
between  what  is  called  society,  and  the  church;  for  if 


FLIRTATION.  213 

being  a  church-woman  means  all  he  says,  one  cannot  be 
iu  it  without  really  making  religion  the  life's  business 
—which,  you  know,  we  none  of  us  do  or  have.  Dear  man, 
when  I  see  him  tugging  and  straining  to  get  our  old,  sleepy, 
rich  families  into  heavenly  ways,  I  think  of  Pegasus  yoked 
to  a  stone  cart.  He  is  all  life  and  energy  and  enthusiasm, 
he  breathes  fire,  and  his  wings  are  spread  heavenward,  but 
there's  the  old  dead,  lumbering  cart  at  his  heels!  Poor 
man ! — and  poor  cart  too — for  I  am  in  it  with  the  rest  of  the 
lumber ! 

We  are  in  all  the  usual  Spring  agonies  now  about  clothes. 
The  house  reverberates  with  the  discussion  of  hats  and 
bonnets,  and  feathers  and  flowers,  and  overskirts  and  under- 
skirts, and  all  the  paraphernalia— and  what  an  absurd  com- 
bination it  makes  with  the  daily  services  in  Lent.  Absurd  ? 
No — dreadful!  for  at  church  we  are  reading  of  our  Saviour's 
poverty  and  fasting  and  agonies— what  a  contrast  between 
his  life  and  ours !  Was  it  to  make  us  such  as  we  are  that  he 
thus  lived  and  died? 

Cousin  Sophia  is  happy  in  her  duties  in  the  sisterhood. 
Her  church  life  and  daily  life  are  all  of  a  piece — one  part  is 
not  a  mockery  of  the  other.  There's  Ida  too — out  of  the 
church,  making  no  profession  of  churchly  religion,  but  liv- 
ing wholly  out  of  this  bustling,  worldly  sphere,  devoted  to  a 
noble  life  purpose— fitting  herself  to  make  new  and  better 
paths  for  women.  Ida  has  none  of  these  diess  troubles; 
she  has  cut  loose  from  all.  Her  simple  black  dress  costs 
incredibly  less  than  our  outfit — it  is  ail  arranged  with  a  pur- 
pose— yet  she  always  has  the  air  of  a  lady,  and  she  has  be- 
sides a  real  repose,  which  we  never  do.  This  matter  of 
dress  has  a  thousand  jars  and  worries  and  vexations  to  a  fas- 
tidious nature ;  one  wishes  one  were  out  of  it. 

I  have  heard  that  nuns  often  say  they  are  more  blessed 
than  ever  they  were  in  the  world,  and  I  can  conceive  why, 
—it  is  a  perfect  and  blissful  rest  from  all  that  troubles  ordi- 
nary women.  In  the  first  place,  the  marriage  question. 
They  know  that  they  are  not  to  be  married,  and  it  is  a  com- 


214  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

fort  to  have  a  definite  settlement  of  that  matter.  Then  all 
agitations  and  fluctuations  about  that  are  over.  In  the 
next  place,  the  dress  question.  They  have  a  dress  pro- 
vided, put  it  on,  and  wear  it  without  thought  or  inquiry ; 
there  is  no  room  for  thought,  or  use  for  inquiry.  In  the 
third  place,  the  question  of  sphere  and  work  is  settled  for 
them ;  they  know  their  duties  exactly ;  and  if  they  don't, 
there  is  a  director  to  tell  them;  they  have  only  to  obey. 
This  must  be  rest — blissful  rest. 

I  think  of  it  sometimes,  and  wonder  why  it  is  that  this 
dress  question  must  smother  us  women  and  wear  us  out, 
and  take  our  whole  life  and  breath  as  it  does!  In  our 
family  it  is  perfectly  fearful.  If  one  had  only  one's  self 
to  please,  it  is  hard  enough — what  with  one's  own  fastidious 
taste,  with  dressmakers  who  never  keep  their  word,  and 
push  you  off  at  the  last  moment  with  abominable  things; 
but  when  one  has  pleased  one's  self,  then  comes  mamma, 
and  then  all  the  girls,  every  one  with  an  opinion  ;  and 
then  when  this  gauntlet  is  run,  comes  Aunt  Maria,  more 
solemn  and  dictatorial  than  the  whole — so  that  by  the  time 
anything  gets  really  settled,  one  is  so  fatigued  that  life 
doesn't  seem  really  worth  having. 

I  told  Mr.  Henderson,  in  our  little  discussion  last  night, 
that  I  envied  men  because  they  had  achance  to  live  a  real, 
grand,  heroic  life,  while  we  were  smothered  under  trifles 
and  common -places,  and  he  said,  in  reply,  that  the  men  had 
no  more  chances  in  this  way  than  we ;  that  theirs  was  a 
life  of  drudgeries'  and  detail ;  and  that  the  only  way  for 
man  or  woman  was  to  animate  ordinary  duties  by  a  heroic 
spirit.  He  said  that  woman's  speciality  was  to  idealize  life 
by  shedding  a  noble  spirit  upon  its  ordinary  trifles.  I  don't 
think  he  is  altogether  right.  I  still  think  the  opportuni- 
ties for  a  noble  life  are  ten  to  one  in  the  hands  of  men ; 
but  still  there  is  a  great  deal  in  what  he  says.  He  spoke 
beautifully  of  the  noble  spirit  shown  by  some  women  in 
domestic  life.  I  thought  perhaps  it  was  his  mother  he  was 


FLIRTATION.  2]5 

tMnking  of.    He  must  have  known  some  noble  woman,  for 
his  eye  kindled  wh-n  he  spoke  abjut  it. 

How  I  have  run  on— and  what  a  medley  this  letter  is.  I 
dare  not  look  it  over,  for  1  should  be  sure  to  toss  it  into 
the  fire.  Write  to  me  soon,  dearest  Bella,  and  tell  me  what 
you  think  of  matters  so  far. 

Your  ever  loving  EVA. 


216  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

I  BECOME  A  FAMILY  FRIEND. 

HAVE  often  bad  occasion  to  admire  the  philosoph- 
ical justice  of  popular  phrases.  The  ordinary 
cant  phraseology  of  life  generally  represents  a 
homely  truth  because  it  has  grown  upon  reality  like  a  lichen 
upon  a  rock.  "  Falling  in  love  "  is  a  phrase  of  this  kind ;  it 
represents  just  that  phenomenon  which  is  all  the  time  hap- 
pening among  the  sons  and  daughteis  of  Adam  in  most  un- 
foreseen times  aud  seasons,  and  of  ten  when  the  subject  least 
intends  it,  and  even  intends  something  quite  the  contrary. 

The  popular  phrase  "  falling  in  love"  denotes  something 
that  comes  unexpectedly.  One  may  walk  into  love  prepar- 
edly, advisedly,  with  the  eyes  of  one's  understanding  open; 
but  one  falls  in  love  as  one  falls  down  stairs  in  a  dark  entry, 
simply  because  the  foot  is  set  where  there  is  nothing  for 
it  to  stand  on,  which  I  take  to  be  a  simile  of  most  philo- 
sophical good  resolutions. 

I  flattered  myself  at  this  period  of  my  existence,  that  I 
•was  a  thorough -paced  philosopher ;  a  man  that  Had  outlived 
the  snares  and  illusions  of  youth,  and  held  himself  and  all 
his  passions  and  affections  under  most  perfect  control. 

The  time  had  not  }'et  come  marked  out  in  my  supreme 
wisdom  for  me  to  meditate  matrimonial  ideas  :  in  the  mean 
while,  1  resolved  to  make  the  most  of  that  pleasant  and  con- 
venient arbor  on  the  Hill  Difficulty  which  is  commonly 
called  Friendship. 

Concerning  this  arbor  I  have  certain  observations  to 
malte.  It  is  most  comraodiously  situated,  and  commands 
charming  prospects.  AVe  are  informed  of  some,  that  on  a 
clear  day  one  can  see  from  it  quite  plainly  as  far  as  to  the 
Delectable  Mountains.  From  my  own  experience  I  have  no 


I  BECOME  A  FAMILY  FRIEND.  217 

doubt  of  this  fact.  For  a  young  man  of  five-and-twenty  or 
thereabouts,  not  at  present  in  circumstances  to  marry,  \vhat 
is  more  charming  than  to  become  the  intimate  friend  in  a 
circle  of  vivacious  and  interesting  young  ladies,  in  easy 
circumstances,  who  live  iu  a  palace  surrounded  by  all  the 
elegancies,  refinements,  and  comforts  of  life  ? 

More  blissful  still,  if  he  be  welcomed  to  these  bowers  of 
Ix  ';mty  by  a  charming  and  courteous  mamma  who  hopes 
he  will  make  himself  at  home,  and  assures  him  that  they 
will  treat  him  quite  as  one  of  the  family.  This  means,  of 
ccurse,  that  perfect  confidence  is  reposed  in  his  discretion. 
He  is  labeled—"  Safe."  He  is  to  gaze  on  all  these  charms, 
with  a  disinterested  spirit,  without  a  thought  of  personal 
appropriation.  Of  course  he  is  not  to  stand  iu  the  way  of 
eligible  establishments  that  may  offer,  but  meanwhile  he 
can  make  himself  generally  agreeable  and  useful.  He  may 
advise  the  fair  charmers  as  to  their  reading  and  superin- 
tend the  cultivation  of  their  minds ;  he  may  be  on  hand 
whenever  an  escort  is  needed  to  a  party,  he  may  brighten 
up  dull  evenings  by  reading  aloud,  and  in  short  may  be 
that  useful  individual  that  is  looked  on  "  quite  as  a  brother, 
you  know." 

Young  men  who  glide  into  this  position  in  families, 
generally,  1  believe,  enjoy  it  quite  as  much  as  the  moth- 
millers  who  seem  to  derive  such  pleasure  from  the  light 
and  beat  of  the  evening  lamp,  and  with  somewhat  similar 
results.  But  though  thousands  of  these  unsophisticated 
insects  singe  their  wings  every  evening,  the  thousand-and- 
first  one  comes  to  the  charge  with  a  light  heart  in  his 
bosom,  and  quite  as  satisfied  of  his  good  fortune  as  I  was 
when  Mrs.  Van  Arsdel  with  the  sweetest  and  most  motherly 
tones  said  to  me,  "  1  know,  Mr.  Henderson,  the  lonely  life 
you  young  men  must  lead  when  you  first  come  to  cities ;  you 
have  been  accustomed  to  the  home  circle,  to  mother  and 
sisters,  and  it  must  be  very  dreary.  Pray,  make  this  a  sort 
oi  home ;  drop  in  at  any  time,  our  parlors  are  always  open, 
and  some  of  us  about ;  or  if  not,  why,  there  are  the  pictures 


21  8  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

and  the  books,  you  know,  and  there  is  the  library  where  you 
can  write." 

Surely  it  was  impossible  fcr  a  young  man  to  turn  away 
from  all  this  allurement.  It  was  the  old  classic  story : — 

"  The  mother  Circe  with  the  Syrens  three, 
Among-  the  flowery  kirtled  Naldes." 

Mrs.  Van  Arsdel,  as  I  said,  was  one  of  three  fair  sisters 
who  had  attained  a  great  celebrity,  in  the  small  provincial 
town  where  they  were  born,  for  their  personal  charms.  They 
were  known  far  and  near  as  the  beautiful  Miss  Askotts. 
Their  father  was  a  man  rather  in  the  lower  walks  of  life,  and 
the  fortunes  of  the  family  were  made  solely  by  the  personal 
attractions  of  the  daughters. 

The  oldest  of  these,  Maria  Askott,  married  into  one  of  the 
so-called  first  New  York  families.  The  match  was  deemed 
in  the  day  of  it  a  very  brilliant  one.  Tom  Wouverman  was 
rich,  showy,  and  dissipated;  and  in  a  very  few  years  ran 
through  both  with  his  property  and  constitution,  and  left 
his  wife  the  task  of  maintaining  a  genteel  standing  on  very 
limited  means. 

The  second  sister,  Ellen,  married  Mr.  Van  Arsdel  when  he 
was  in  quite  modest  circumstances,  and  had  been  carried  up 
steadily  by  his  business  ability  to  the  higher  circles  of  New 
York  life.  The  third  had  married  a  rich  Southern  planter 
whose  fortunes  have  nothing  to  do  with  my  story. 

The  Van  Arsdel  household,  like  most  American  famines, 
was  substantially  under  feminine  rule.  Mr.  Van  Arsdel 
was  a  quiet,  silent  man,  whose  whole  soul  was  absorbed  in 
business,  and  who  left  to  his  wife  the  whole  charge  of  all 
that  concerned  the  household  and  his  children. 

Mrs.  Van  Arsdel,  however,  was  under  the  control  of  her 
elder  sister.  There  are  born  dictators  as  well  as  born  poets. 
Certain  people  come  into  the  world  with  the  instinct  and 
talent  for  ruling  and  teaching,  and  certain  others  with  the 
desire  and  instinct  of  being  taught  and  ruled  over.  There 
are  people  born  with  such  a  superfluous  talent  for  manage- 


I  BECOME  A  FAMILY  FRIEND.  219 

ment  and  dictation  that  they  always,  instinctively  and  as 
a  matter  of  course,  arrange  not  only  their  own  affairs  but 
thoso  of  their  friends  and  relations,  in  the  most  efficient 
and  complete  m inner  possible.  Such  is  the  tendency  of 
things  to  adaptation  and  harmony,  that  where  such  persons 
exist  we  are  sure  to  find  them  surrounded  by  those  who 
take  delight  in  being  guided,  who  like  to  learn  and  to  look 
up.  Such  a  domestic  ruler  was  Mrs.  Maria  Wouverman, 
commonly  known  in  the  Van  Arsdel  circle  as  "Aunt 
Maria,"  a  name  of  might  and  authority  anxiously  interro- 
gated and  quoted  in  all  passages  of  family  history. 

No\v  the  fact  is  quite  striking  that  the  persons  who  hold 
this  position  in  domestic  policy  are  oflen  not  particularly 
strong  or  wise.  The  governing  mind  of  many  a  circle  is  not 
by  any  means  the  mind  best  fitted  either  mentally  or  mor- 
ally to  govern.  It  is  neither  the  best  nor  the  cleverest 
individual  of  a  given  number  who  influences  their  opinions 
and  conduct,  but  the  person  the  most  perseveringly  self- 
asserting.  It  is  amusing  m  looking  at  the  world  to  see  how 
much  people  are  taken  at  their  own  valuation.  The  persons 
who  always  have  an  opinion  on  every  possible  subject  ready 
made,  and  put  up  and  labeled  for  immediate  use,  concerning 
which  they  have  no  shadow  of  a  doubt  or  hesitation,  are 
from  that  very  quality  born  rulers.  This  positiveness,  and 
preparedness,  and  readiness  may  spring  from  a  universal 
shallowness  of  nature,  but  it  is  none  the  less  efficient.  While 
people  of  deeper  perceptions  and  more  insight  are  wavering 
in  delicate  distresses,  balancing  testimony  and  praying  for 
light,  this  common-place  obtuseness  comes  in  and  leads  all 
captive,  by  mere  force  of  knowing  exactly  what  it  wants, 
and  being  incapable  of  seeing  beyond  the  issues  of  the 
moment. 

Mrs.  Maria  Wouverman  was  all  this.  She  always  believed 
in  herself,  from  the  cradle.  The  watchwords  of  her  con- 
versation were  alwa\  s  of  a  positive  nature.  "  To  be  sure," 
"  certainly,"  "  of  course,"  "  I  see,"  and  "  I  told  you  so." 

Correspondingly  to  this,  Mrs.  Van  Arsdel,  her  next  sister, 


220  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

was  one  who  said  habitually,  "  What  would  you  do,  and 
how  would  you  do  it  V1  and  so  the  domestic  duet  was  com- 
plete. Mrs.  "VVouverman  did  not  succeed  in  governing  or 
reclaiming  her  husband,  but  she  was  none  the  less  self- 
confident  for  that ;  and  having  seen  him  comfortably  into  his 
grave,  she  had  nothing  to  do  but  get  together  the  small 
remains  of  the  estate  and  devote  herself  to  "  dear  Ellen 
ami  her  children."  Mrs.  Wouverman  managed  her  own 
house,  where  everything  was  arranged  with  the  strictest 
attention  and  economy,  and  to  the  making  a  genteel  appear- 
ance on  a  small  sum,  and  yet  found  abundance  of  time  to 
direct  sister  Ellen  and  her  children. 

She  was  a  good  natured,  pleasant-mannered  woman,  fond 
of  her  nieces  and  nephews;  and  her  perfect  faith  in  her- 
self, the  decision  of  all  her  announcements,  and  the  habitual 
attitude  of  consultation  in  which  the  mother  of  the  family 
stood  towards  her,  led  the  Van  Arsdel  children  as  they  grew 
up  to  consider  "  Aunt  Maria,"  like  the  Bible  or  civil  govern- 
ment, as  one  of  the  great  ready-made  facts  of  society,  to 
be  accepted  without  dispute  or  injury. 

Mrs.  Wouverman  had  her  own  idea  of  the  summum  bonum, 
that  great  obscure  point  about  which  philosophers  have 
groped  in  vain.  Had  Plato  or  Anaxagoras  or  any  of  those 
ancient  worthies  appealed  to  her,  she  would  have  smiled  on 
them  benignantly  and  said :  "  Why  yes,  of  course,  don't  you 
see1?  the  thing  is  very  simple.  You  must  keep  the  best 
society  and  make  a  good  appearance." 

Mrs.  Van  Arsdel  had  been  steadily  guided  by  her  in  the 
paths  of  fashionable  progression.  Having  married  into  a 
rich  old  family,  Aunt  Maria  was  believed  to  have  myste- 
rious and  incommunicable  secrets  of  gentility  at  her  com- 
mand. She  was  always  supposed  to  have  an  early  insight 
into  the  secret  counsels  of  that  sublime,  awful,  mysterious 
"  they?  who  give  the  law  in  fashionable  life.  "  They  don't 
wear  bonnets  that  way,  now ! '  "  My  love,  they  wear  gloves 
sewed  with  colored  silks,  now!"  or,  "they  have  done  with 
hoops  and  flowing  sleeves,"  or,  "  they  are  beginning  to  wear 


I  BECOME  A  FAMILY  FRIEND.  221 

hoops  again  !  They  are  eroing  to  wear  long  trains,'1  or,  *'  they 
have  done  with  silver  powder  now  !"  All  which  announce- 
ment* were  made  with  a  calm  solemnity  of  manner  calcu- 
lated to  impress  the  youthful  mind  with  a  sense  of  their 
profound  importance. 

Mr.  Van  Arsdel  followed  Aunt  Maria's  lead  with  that 
unquestioning  meekness  which  is  so  edifying  a  trait  in  our 
American  gentlemen.  In  fact  he  considered  the  household 
and  all  its  works  and  ways  as  an  insoluble  mystery  which 
he  was  well  pleased  to  leave  to  his  wife ;  and  if  his  wife 
chose  to  he  guided  by  "  Maria"  he  had  no  objection.  So 
long  as  his  business  talent  continued  yearly  to  enlarge  his 
means  of  satisfying  the  desires  and  aspirations  of  his  family, 
so  long  he  was  content  quietly  and  silently  to  ascend  in  the 
scale  of  luxurious  living,  to  have  his  house  moved  I'rom 
quarter  to  quarter  until  he  reached  a  Fifth  Avenue  palace, 
to  fill  it  with  pictures  and  statuary,  of  which  he  knew  little 
and  cared  less. 

Under  Aunt  Maria's  directions  Mrs.  Van  Ar&del  aspired  to 
be  a  leader  in  fashionable  society.  No  house  was  to  be  so 
attractive  as  her's,  no  parties  so  brilliant,  no  daughters  in 
greater  demand.  Nature  had  generously  seconded  her 
desires.  Her  daughters  were  all  gifted  with  fine  personal 
points  aft  well  as  a  more  than  common  share  of  that  spicy 
genial  originality  of  mind  which  is  as  a  general  tiling  rather 
a  characteristic  of  young  American  girls. 

Mr.  Van  Arsdel  had  had  his  say  about  the  education  of  his 
sons  and  daughters.  No  expense  had  been  spared.  They 
had  been  sent  to  the  very  best  schools  that  money  could 
procure,  and  had  improved  their  advantages.  The  conse- 
quences of  education  had  been  as  usual  to  increase  the  diffi- 
culties of  controlling  the  subject. 

The  horror  and  dismay  of  Mrs.  Van  Arsdel  and  of  Aunt 
Maria  cannot  be  imagined  when  they  discovered  almost 
immediately  on  the  introduction  of  Ida  Van  Arsdel  into 
society  that  they  had  on  their  hands  an  actual  specimen  of 
the  strong  minded  young  woman  of  the  period ;  a  person 


222  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

who  looked  beyond  shows,  who  did  her  own  thinking, 
and  \vho  despised  or  approved  with  full  vigor  without  con- 
sulting accepted  standards,  and  was  resolutely  resolved  not 
to  walk  in  the  ways  her  pastors  or  masters  had  hitherto  con- 
sidered the  only  appointed  ones  for  young  ladies  of  good 
condition. 

To  work  embroidery,  go  to  parties,  entertain  idlers  and 
wait  to  be  chosen  in  marriage,  seemed  to  a  girl  who  had 
spent  six  years  in  earnest  study  a  most  lame  and  impotent 
conclusion  to  all  that  effort ;  and  when  Ida  Van  Arsdel 
declared  her  resolution  to  devote  hers  If  to  professional 
studies,  Aunt  Maria's  indignation  and  disgust  is  not  to  be 
described. 

"  So  shocking  and  indelicate !  For  my  part  I  can't  imagine 
how  anybody  can  want  to  think  on  such  »ubjects!  I'm  sure 
it  gives  me  a  turn  just  to  look  into  a  work  on  physiology, 
and  all  those  dreadful  pictures  of  what  is  inside  of  us  !  I 
think  the  less  we  know  about  such  subjects  the  better; 
women  were  made  to  be  wives  and  mothers,  and  not  to 
trouble  their  heads  about  such  matters ;  and  to  think  of 
Ida,  of  all  things,  whose  father  is  rich  enough  to  keep  her 
like  a  princess  whether  she  ever  does  a  thing  or  not ! 
Why  should  she  go  into  it?  Why,  Ida  is  not  bad  looking. 
She  is  quite  pretty,  in  fact;  there  are  a  dozen  girls  with 
not  half  her  advantages  that  have  nude  good  matches,  but 
it's  no  use  talking  to  her.  That  girl  is  obstinate  as  the 
everlasting  hills,  and  her  father  backs  her  up  in  it.  Well, 
we  must  let  her  go,  and  take  care  of  the  others.  Eva  is  my 
god -child,  and  we  must  at  any  rate  secure  something  for 
her.7'  Something,  meant  of  course  a  splendid  establishment. 

The  time  of  niy  introduction  into  the  family  circle  was  a 
critical  one. 

In  the  race  for  fashionable  leadership  Mrs.  Van  Arsdel  had 
one  rival  whose  successes  were  as  stimulating  a, id  as  vexa- 
tious to  her  as  the  good  fortune  of  Mordecai  the  Jew  was  to 
Hainan  in  Old  Testament  times. 

All  her  good  fortune  and  successes  were  spoiled  by  the 


I  BECOME  A  FAMILY  FRIEND.  223 

good  fortune  and  successes  of  another  woman,  who  was  sure 
to  be  a  little  ahead  of  her  in  everything  that  she  attempted ; 
and  this  was  the  more  trying  as  this  individual  began  life 
with  her,  and  was  a  sort  of  family  connection. 

In  days  of  her  youth  there  wcis  one  Polly  Sanders,  a  re- 
mote cousin  of  the  Askotts,  who  was  reputed  a  beauty  by 
some.  Polly  was  what  is  called  in  New  England  "  smart." 
She  was  one  who  never  lost  an  opportunity,  and,  as  the  vul- 
gar saying  is,  could  make  every  edge  cut.  Her  charms  were 
far  less  than  those  of  the  Misses  Askott,  and  she  was  in 
far  more  straitened  circumstances;  but  she  went  at  the 
problem  of  life  in  a  sort  of  tooth-and-nail  fashion,  which 
often  is  extremely  successful.  She  worked  first  in  a  fac- 
tory, till  she  made  a  little  money,  with  which  she  put  her- 
self to  school — acquired  sbowy  accomplishments,  and  went 
up  like  a  balloon ;  married  a  man  with  much  the  same 
talent  for  getting  along  in  the  world  as  herself;  went  to 
Paris  and  returned  a  traveled,  accomplished  woman,  and 
the  pair  set  up  for  first  society  people  in  New  York ;  and 
to  the  infinite  astonishment  of  Mrs.  Wouverman,  were 
soon  in  a  position  to  patronize  her,  and  to  run  a  race,  neck 
and  neck,  with  the  Van  Arsdels. 

Wluit  woman's  Christian  principles  are  adequate  to  sup- 
port licr  under  such  trials?  Nothing  ever  impressed  Aunt 
Maria  with  such  a  sense  of  the  evils  of  worldliuess  as  Polly 
Elmorc's  career.  She  was  fond  of  speaking  of  her  familiarly 
as  "Polly ;"  and  recalling  the  time  when  she  was  only  a  fac- 
tory-girl. According  to  Aunt  Maria,  such  grasping,  un- 
scrupulous devotion  to  things  seen  and  tempoporal,  had 
never  been  known  in  anybody  as  in  the  case  of  Polly. 
Aunt  Maria,  of  course,  did  not  consider  herself  as  worldly. 
Nobody  ever  does.  You  do  not,  I  presume,  my  dear  madam. 
When  your  minister  preaches  about  worldly  people,  your 
mind  immediately  reverts  to  the  Joneses  and  the  Simpsons 
round  the  corner,  and  you  rather  wonder  how  they  take  it. 
In  the  same  manner  Aunt  Maria's  eyes  were  always  being 
rolled  up,  and  she  was  always  in  a  shocked  state  at  some- 


224  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

thing  these  dreadful,  worldly,  dressy  Elmores  were  doing. 
But  still  they  went  on  from  conquering  to  conquer.  Mrs. 
Elmore  was  a  dashing  leader  of  fashion — spoke  French  like 
a  book— was  credibly  reported  to  have  skated  with  the 
Emperor  at  the  Bois  de  Boulogne — and,  in  short,  there  was 
no  saying  what  feathers  she  didn't  wear  in  her  cap. 

The  Van  Arsdels  no  sooner  did  a  thing  than  the  Elmores 
did  more.  The  Van  Arsdels  had  a  house  in  Fifth  Avenue ; 
the  Elmores  set  up  a  French  chateau  on  the  Park.  The  Van 
Arsdels  piqued  themselves  on  recherche"  society.  The  El- 
mores made  it  a  point  to  court  all  the  literati  and  distin- 
guished people.  Hence,  rising  young  men  were  of  great 
value  as  ornaments  to  the  salons  of  the  respective  houses — 
if  they  had  brought  with  them  a  name  in  the  literary  world, 
so  much  the  more  was  their  value — it  was  important  to 
attach  them  to  our  salon,  lest  they  should  go  to  swell  the 
triumphs  of  the  enemy. 

The  crowning,  culminating  triumph  of  the  Elmores  was 
the  engagement,  just  declared,  of  Maria,  the  eldest  daugh- 
ter, to  young  Bivington,  of  Bivington  Manor,  concerning 
which  Aunt  Maria  and  Mrs.  Van  Arsdel  were  greatly  moved. 

The  engagement  was  declared,  and  brilliant  wedding 
preparations  on  foot  that  should  eclipse  all  former  New 
York  grandeurs ;  and  what  luminary  was  there  in  the  Van 
Arsdel  horizon  to  draw  attention  to  that  quarter  ? 

"Positively,  Ellen,"  said  Aunt  Maria,  "the  engagement 
between  Eva  and  Wat  Sydney  must  come  out.  It  provokes 
me  to  see  the  absurd  and  indelicate  airs  the  Elmores  gives 
themselves  about  this  Bivington  match.  It's  really  in  shock- 
ing taste.  I'm  sure  I  don't  envy  them  Sam  Bivington. 
There  are  shocking  stories  told  about  him.  They  say  he  is 
a  perfect  roue— has  been  taken  home  by  the  police  night 
after  night.  How  Polly,  with  all  her  worldliness,  can  make 
such  an  utter  sacrifice  of  her  daughter  is  what  1  can't  see. 
Now  Sydney  everybody  knows  is  a  strictly  correct  man. 
Ellen,  this  thing  ought  to  come  out." 


I  BECOME  A  FAMILY  FRIEND.  225 

"  But,  dear  me,  Maria,  Eva  is  such  a  strange  child.  She 
won't  admit  that  there  is  any  engagement." 

"  She  must  admit  it,  Ellen— of  course  she  must.  It's  Ida 
that  puts  her  up  to  all  her  strange  ideas,  and  will  end  by 
making  her  as  odd  as  she  is  herself.  There's  that  new 
young  man,  that  Henderson — why  don't  we  turn  him  to  ac- 
count 1  Ida  has  taken  a  fancy  to  him,  I  hear,  and  it's  ex- 
actly the  thing.  Only  get  Ida's  thoughts  running  that  way 
and  she'll  let  Eva  alone,  and  step  putting  notions  into  her 
head.  Henderson  is  a  gentleman,  and  would  be  a  very 
proper  match  for  Ida.  He  is  literary,  and  she  is  literary. 
He  is  for  all  the  modern  ideas,  and  so  is  she.  I'm  sure, 
I  go  with  all  my  heart  for  encouraging  him.  It's  exactly  the 
thing." 

And  Aunt  Maria 

4t  Shook  her  ambrosi  1  curls  and  gave  the  nod," 
with  a  magnificence  equal  to  Jupiter  in  the  old  Homeric 
days. 


226  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

I  DISCOVER  THE  BEAUTIES  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 

TCH  has  been  written  lately  concerning  the  doc- 
trine of  friendship  between  men  and  women.  It  is 
thought  and  said  by  some  that  there  lies  an  unex- 
plored  territory  in  our  American  life,  and  we  have  the  exam- 
ple of  Madame  Recnmier  set  before  us  to  show  how  perfectly 
intimate  and  devoted  a  whole  circle  of  mauly  friends  may 
be  with  one  fair  woman,  without  detriment  or  disadvan- 
tage to  their  domestic  ties  or  hers.  The  adorable  Juliet  is 
the  intimate  friend  at  onco  of  Matthew  Kontmorenci,  the 
saiiit,  of  Chateaubriand,  the  poet,  and  of  an  indefinite  num- 
ber of  artists  and  men  of  letters,  all  of  whom  address  her 
in  language  of  adoration  and  devotion,  and  receive  from 
her  affectionate  messages  in  return.  Chateaubriand  spends 
every  afternoon  with  Juliet,  and  every  evening  with  his 
invalid  wife,  like  a  devoted  and  dutiful  husband,  and  this 
state  of  things  goes  on  from  year  to  year  without  trouble 
and  without  scandal. 

It  was  with  some  such  sublimated  precedent  in  my  head 
that  I  allowed  myself  to  yield  to  the  charming  temptation 
opened  to  me  by  my  acquaintance  with  Eva  Van  Arsdel. 
Supposing  by  Jim's  account  that  she  was  already  engaged, 
looking  on  myself  as  yet  far  off  from  the  place  where  I 
could  think  of  marriage,  what  was  there  to  hinder  iny 
enjoying  her  society  f  Of  course,  there  was  no  possible  dan- 
ger to  myself,  and  it  would  be  absolute  coxcombry  to  think 
that  there  would  be  any  to  her.  She,  who  had  been  a  queen 
of  fashion,  and  who  had  the  world  under  her  feet,  if  she 
deigned  to  think  kindly  of  a  poor  litterateur,  it  could  surely 
lead  to  nothing  dangerous.  I  might  have  been  warned,  if  I 


THE  BEAUTIES  OF  FRIENDSHIP.  227 

were  wise,  by  the  fact  that  the  night  after  my  first  pre- 
sentation I  lay  awake  and  thought  over  all  she  bad  said, 
and  counted  the  days  that  should  intervene  before  next 
Wednesday  evening.  I  would  not  for  the  world  have  had 
Jim  Fellows  divine  what  was  going  on  within  me ;  in  fact  I 
took  as  much  pains  to  cajole  and  pacify  and  take  myself  in 
as  ii!  I  had  been  a  third  party. 

I  woke  about  six  o'clock  in  the  dim  grey  of  the  next 
morning,  from  a  dream  in  which  Eva  and  I  were  talking 
together,  when  she  seemed  so  vivid  that  I  started  up  almost 
feeling  that  I  saw  her  face  in  the  air.  Suddenly  1  heard  the 
tell  of  a  neighboring  church  strike  the  hour,  and  thought 
of  what  she  had  said  the  evening  before  about  attending 
morning  services. 

What  was  to  hinder  my  going  to  the  church  and  seeing 
her  again  ?  There  was  a  brisk  morning  walk,  that  was  a 
good  tiling,  and  certainly  morning  devotion  was  some- 
thing so  altogether  right  and  reasonable  that  I  wondered  I 
never  had  thought  of  it  before.  I  dressed  myself  awd 
turned  out  into  the  streets  to  seek  the  little  church  of 
the  Holy  Sepulcher  where  the  new  Hector  of  whom  Eva 
had  spoken  held  early  Lenten  services. 

There  was  something  quaint  and  rather  exciting  to  my 
imagination  to  be  one  of  a  small  band  who  sought  the 
church  at  this  early  hour.  The  sunlight  of  the  rising  day 
streamed  through  the  painted  window  and  touched  with  a 
sort  of  glory  the  white  dress  of  the  priest ;  the  organ  played 
softly  in  subdued  melody,  and  the  words  of  the  morning 
service  had  a  sort  of  touching  lovely  sound.  "  Where  two 
or  three  are  gathered  together  in  my  name,  there  am  I  in 
the  midst  of  them"  seemed  to  come  to  my  thoughts  with 
new  force  as  I  looked  on  the  small  number,  two  or  three 
in  a  pew,  who  were  scattered  up  and  down  through  the 
church.  She  was  there  in  a  seat  not  far  from  me,  shrouded 
in  a  simple  black  dress  and  veil,  and  seemed  wholly  and  en- 
tirely absorbed  by  her  prayer-book  and  devotions. 


228  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

As  the  little  company  dispersed  at  the  close  of  the  servi- 
ces, I  stood  in  the  door  and  joined  her  as  she  passed  out. 

"  Good  morning,  Miss  Van  Arsdel,''  I  said. 

She  started  and  looked  surprised,  and  a  bright  color 
flushed  in  her  cheeks. 

"  Mr.  Henderson  !  you  quite  astonish  me." 

"  Why  so  T1 

"  There  are  so  very  few  who  get  out  at  this  hour ;  and 
you,  I  believe,  are  not  of  the  church." 

"  I  don't  know  what  yoa  mean  by  the  church,  exactly," 
said  I. 

"  Oh,"  said  she,  looking  at  me  with  a  conscious  smile,  "  I 
know  what  everybody  means  that  says  the  church— it  gen- 
erally means  our  church — the  one  that  is  the  church  for 
us ;  but  you,  I  think,  belong  to  the  Bethany,"  she  added. 

<;I  do,"  said  I,  "but  I  have  large  sympathies  for  all  oth- 
ers, particularly  for  yours,  which  seems  to  me  in  some  points 
more  worthily  to  represent  what  a  church  should  be,  than 
any  other." 

She  looked  pleased,  and  said  with  warmth,  "Mr.  Hender- 
son, you  must  not  judge  our  church  by  such  very  imperfect 
specimens  as  you  see  among  us.  We  are  very  unworthy 
children  of  a  noble  mother;  our  church  has  everything  in  it 
to  call  us  to  the  highest  and  best  life,  only  we  fall  far 
below  her  teaching." 

"I  think  I  can  see,"  I  said,  "that  if  the  scheme  of  living 
set  forth  by  the  Episcopal  Church  were  carried  out  with 
warmth  and  devotion,  it  would  make  an  ideal  sort  of  so- 
ciety." 

"  It  would  be  a  really  consecrated  life,"  she  said,  with 
warmth.  "If  all  would  agree  to  unite  in  daily  morn- 
ing and  evening  prayers  for  instance,"  she  said,  "how 
beautiful  it  would  be."  "  I  never  enjoy  reading  my  Bible 
klone  in  my  room  as  I  do  to  have  it  read  to  me  here  in 
church ;  somehow  to  me  there  is  a  sacred  charm  about  it 
when  I  hear  it  read  there,  and  then  to  have  friends,  neigh- 
bors and  families  meet  and  pray  together  as  one,  every  day, 


THE  BEAUTIES  OF  FRIENDSHIP.  229 

would  be  beautiful.  I  often  think  T  should  like  to  live  close 
by  one  of  those  beautiful  English  cathedrals  where  they 
have  choral  services  every  day,  and  I  would  go  morning:  and 
evening,  but  here,  in  this  dreadful,  flashy,  busy,  bustling 
New  York,  there  is  uo  such  thing,  I  suppose,  as  getting  any 
number  of  people  to  agree  to  daily  worship." 

"  In  that  respect,"  said  I,  "  we  modern  Christians  seem 
to  be  less  devout  than  the  ancient  heathen  or  the  Mohamme- 
dans ;  you  recollect  Huju  Buba  sums  up  the  difference  be- 
tween the  Englishman  and  the  Persian  by  saying,  'We  Per- 
sians pray  seven  times  a  day,  and  they,  never.'  " 

"  I  like  to  come  to  church,"  she  said,  "it  seems  a  shelter 
and  a  refugo.  Nowadays  there  are  so  many  things  said  that 
one  doesn't  know  what  to  think  of ;  so  many  things  disputed 
that  one  has  always  supposed  to  be  true ;  such  a  perfectly 
fatiguing  rush  of  ideas  and  assertions  and  new  ways  that 
for  my  pa~t  I  am  glad  to  fall  back  upon  something  old  and 
established,  that  I  feel  sure  isn't  going  to  melt  away  into 
mist  before  to-morrow. 

"I  can  well  appreciate  that  feeling,"  I  said,  "for  I  have 
it  myself." 

"  Do  you  ?  Oh,  Mr.  Henderson,  you  don't  know  how  it 
perplexes  one.  There's  sister  Ida,  now !  she  has  a  circle  of 
flic-lids — the  very  nicest  sort  of  people  they  seem  to  be! — 
but,  dear  me !  when  I  am  with  them  a  little  while,  I  get 
perfectly  bewildered.  No  two  of  them  seem  to  believe 
alike  on  any  subject ;  and  if  you  quote  the  Bible  to  them, 
they  just  open  their  eyes  and  look  amazed  at  you,  as  if 
that  was  something  quite  behind  the  age ;  and  as  there  is  no 
standard  with  them,  of  course  there  is  nothing  settled.  You 
feel  as  if  life  was  built  on  water,  and  everything  was  rocking 
and  tilting  till  you  are  quite  dizzy.  Now,  I  know  I  am  a 
poor  sort  of  a  specimen  of  a  Christian  ;  but  J  couldn't  live 
so !  I  fly  back  from  this  sort  of  thing,  like  a  frightened  bird, 
and  take  refuge  in  the  church — there  is  something  fixed, 
positive,  and  definite,  that  has  stood  the  test  of  time ;  it  is 
noble  and  dignified,  and  I  abide  by  that." 


230  MY  WIFE  AND  L 

"There  is  all  that  about  it,"  said  I;  "and  so  very  much 
that  is  attractive  and  charming  in  the  forms  of  your  church, 
that  I  think  if  you  would  only  open  your  arms  wide,  and 
be  liberal  as  the  spirit  of  this  age,  you  would  indeed  be  the 
church  of  the  world." 

"  You  think  we  are  not  liberal?"  she  said. 

"  When  you  call  yourselves  the  church,  and  make  no 
account  of  all  that  true,  pure,  good  souls — true  followers  of 
the  same  Saviour — are  doing,  it  seems  to  me  you  arc  not." 

"  Ah,  well,  Mr.  Henderson,  perhaps  we  are  wrong  there — 
I  cannot  say.  I  know  there  are  many  churches  and  many 
dear,  good  souls  in  all ;  it  is  only  to  me  that  mine  is  the 
church  ;  if  that  is  an  illusion,  it  is  a  happy  one." 

"Now,"  s:iid  I,  "what  a  dreary  picture  should  we  have  of 
New  York  Christianity,  if  we  judged  it  by  the  few  morning 
worshipers  at  Lenten  services !" 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  she  said.  I  am  often  sorry  for  our  rector — 
he  is  so  earnest,  and  so  few  care  to  come ;  and  yet  he  told  us 
in  his  sermon,  last  Sunday,  that  these  Lenten  services  were 
an  act  of  union  with  our  Saviour's  self-denials  and  suffer- 
ings." 

"  Well,  Miss  Van  Arsdel,"  said  I,  "I  doubt  not  there  are 
hundreds  of  thousands  in  this  city  who  do  really,  in  spirit, 
unite  with  the  Saviour  in  self-denials  and  sufferings,  daily, 
who  do  not  express  it  in  this  form.  If  all  who  really  love 
the  Saviour,  and  are  living  in  his  spirit,  should  make  a  point 
of  early  morning  service  in  Lent,  I  verily  believe  the 
churches  would  be  crowded  to  overflowing." 

"  You  do  really  think  so  F 

"  I  do.  In  spite  of  all  that  appears,  I  think  ours  i s  really,  at 
heart,  a  religious  age — it  is  only  that  we  do  not  agree  in  the 
same  external  forms  of  expression." 

"  But  how  beautiful !  oh,  how  beautiful  it  would  be  if  we 
could  !"  she  said.  "Oh,  it  would  be  lovely  if  all  the  good  and 
true  could  see  each  other,  and  stand  side  by  side !  1  long  for 
visible  unity— and  do  you  think,  Mr.  Henderson,  we  could 
unite  in  more  beautiful  forms  than  ours  ?" 


THE  BEAUTIES  OF  FRIENDSHIP.  231 

"No  ;  I  do  not,"  said  I ;  "for  me,  for  yon,  for  many  like 
us,  these  are  the  true  forms,  and  the  best;  but  we  must 
remember  that  others  have  just  as  sacred  associations,  and 
are  as  dearly  attached  to  other  modes  of  worship  as  we  to 
these." 

''  Then  you  really  do  prefer  them  yourself  f 

"  Well,  Miss  Van  Arsdel,  I  unite  with  the  church  of  my 
father  and  mother,  because  I  was  brought  up  in  it ;  yet  if  I 
were  to  choose  another,  it  would  be  yours." 

She  looked  pleased,  and  I  added  :  "  It  eeems  to  me  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  things  about  it  is  a  daily  service." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "and  it  is  pleasant  to  have  churches 
where  you  feel  that  worship  is  daily  offered,  whether  people 
attend  or  not.  There  was  something:  sacred  and  beautiful 
about  the  Church  of  St.  Peter's  in  Rome— to  think  that  at 
every  hour  of  day  or  night  worship  was  going  on  in  it.  I 
used  to  like  to  think  of  it  when  I  awoke  nights — that  they 
were  praying  aud  adoring  there — in  this  cold,  dreary  wor  d ; 
it  seems  as  if  it  was  like  a  Father's  house,  always  light,  and 
warm,  and  open." 

"  There  is  a  beauty  and  use  in  all  these  forms  and  images," 
I  sai  J  ;  "  and  I  think  if  we  arc  wise,  we  may  take  comfort  in 
them  all,  without  being  enslaved  by  any." 

Here  our  interview  closed,  as  with  a  graceful  salutation 
she  left  me  at  the  door  of  her  house. 

The  f-mile  she  gave  me  was  so  bright  and  heart-warm,  that 
it  lightened  all  my  work  through  the  day  ;  a  subtle  sense  of 
a  new  and  charming  companionship  began  to  shed  itself 
through  all  my  labors,  and,  unconsciously  and  unwatched, 
commenced  that  process  of  double  thought  which  made 
everything  I  read  or  wrote  suggest  something  I  wanted  to 
s;iy  to  her.  The  reader  will  not,  therefore,  wonder  that  I 
proved  my  sense  of  the  beauty  of  a  daily  morning  service 
by  going  with  great  regularity  after  this,  and  as  regularly 
walking  home  with  my  enchanting  companion. 

I  was  innocently  surprised  to  find  how  interesting  the 
morning  scenery  in  prosaic  old  New  York  had  become.  It 


232  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

was  April,  and  the,  buds  in  the  Park  were  swelling,  and  the 
green  grass  springing  in  the  cracks  of  the  pavement,  and 
little  sparrows  twittered  and  nestled  in  the  ivy  that  embow- 
ered the  church— and  all  these  things  had  a  strange,  new 
charm  for  me.  I  told  myself,  every  day,  that  I  was  not  in 
love  with  Eva  Van  Arsdel,  or  going  to  be  ;  I  took  myself  to 
witness  that  all  our  conversation  was  on  the  most  correct 
and  dispassionate  subjects,  and  not  in  the  slightest  degree 
inclining  to  any  vanity  of  that  nature.  Since  then,  I  have 
learned  that  Eva  was  the  kind  of  woman  with  whom  it 
made  no  difference  what  the  subject  matter  of  conversation 
was.  It  might  be  religion,  or  politics,  or  conic  sections,  but 
the  animus  of  it  was  sure  to  be  the  same  thing.  It  was  her 
vital  magnetism  that  gave  the  interest.  It  was,  in  fact, 
hardly  any  matter  what  we  talked  about,  or  whether 
we  talked  at  all,  it  was  the  charm  of  being  together  that 
made  these  morning  interviews  so  delightful ;  though  I 
believe  we  discussed  nearly  everything  under  the  sun,  with 
the  most  astonishing  unanimity  of  sentiment. 

I  was  very  careful  to  keep  the  knowledge  of  my  increasing 
intimacy  from  Jim  Fellovs.  Early  rising  was  not  his  forte* 
and  I,  very  improperly,  congratulated  myself  on  the  few- 
ness of  the  worshipers  at  early  service.  By  and  by,  I  grew 
so  conscious  that  I  got  a  way  of  stealing  out  at  an  opposite 
door,  appearing  to  walk  olf  another  way,  and  joining  Eva  at 
the  next  corner — lest  haply  niy  invariable  constancy  should 
attract  attention.  She  noticed  all  these  things  with  a  droll, 
amused,  little,  half -conscious  look.  True  daughter  of  Eve 
as  she  was,  she  had  probably  seen  many  a  shy  fish  before^ 
swimming  around  her  golden  net  as  artlessly  as  I  was  doing. 

I  soon  became  her  obedient  slave  and  servant,  interpreting 
all  her  motions  and  intimations  with  humble  assiduity.  Of 
course  I  presented  myself  duly  with  Jim  in  the  Wednesday 
evening  receptions,  where,  as  the  rooms  were  filled  with 
other  company,  we  already  began  to  practice  an  involuntary 
hypocrisy,  keeping  up  our  friendly  intimacy  by  that  kind  of 
intuitive  and  undemonstrative  communication  natural  to 


THE  BEAUTIES  OF  FRIENDSHIP.  233 

those  who  know  each  other  by  sympathy,  and  learn  to 
understand  each  other  without  words. 

I  was  a  great  deal  in  Ida's  studio,  probably  much  to 
the  satisfaction  of  Aunt  Maria  and  Mrs.  Van  Arsdel — while 
Eva  glanced  and  twinkled  in  and  out  like  a  fire-fly  in  a 
meadow,  taking  my  heart  with  her  as  she  came  and  went, 
yet  awing  me  with  a  dutiful  reticence,  lest  "  people  should 
talk." 

Ida  was  one  of  those  calm,  quiet,  essentially  self -poised 
women,  with  whom  it  would  be  quite  possible  for  a  man  to 
have  a  very  intimate  friendship,  without  its  toning  oft*  into 
anything  warm,  either  on  her  part  or  on  his.  Everything 
with  her  was  so  positive  and  definite,  that  there  was  no 
possibility  of  going  over  the  limits.  I  think  that  she  really 
had  a  very  warm  esteem  for  me ;  but  she  looked  at  me  and 
judged  me  solely  in  relation  to  Eva,  and  with  a  quiet  per- 
sistency favored  the  intimacy  that  she  saw  growing  between 
us.  Her  plans  of  life  were  laid  far  ahead;  she  was  wed- 
ded to  a  purpose  which  she  would  not  have  renounced  for 
any  man  on  earth  ;  but  Eva  was  the  very  apple  of  her  eye, 
and  I  think  she  had  her  own  plans  as  to  the  settling  of  her 
life's  destiny ;  in  short,  Ida  was  from  the  start  the  best 
friend  I  could  have. 


234  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

I  AM  INTRODUCED  TO  THE  ILLUMINATI. 

YOUNG  man  who  commences  life  as  a  reformer,  and 
a  leader  in  the  party  of  progress,  while  saying  the 
best  and  most  reasonable  things  in  the  world,  nnd 
advocating  what  appear  to  him  the  most  needed  reforms, 
often  finds  himself,  in  consequence,  in  the  condition  of  one 
who  has  pulled  the  string  of  a  very  large  shower-bath.  He 
wanted  cold  water,  and  he  gets  a  deal  more  than  he  bar- 
gained for;  in  fact,  often  catches  his  breath,  and  won- 
ders when  this  sort  of  thing  is  going  to  stop.  My  articles  on 
the  "  Modern  Woman,"  in  the  Milky  Way,  had  brought  me 
into  notice  in  certain  enthusiastic  circles,  and  I  soon  found 
myself  deluged  with  letters,  appeals,  pamphlets,  newspapers, 
all  calling  for  the  most  urgent  and  immediate  attention,  and 
all  charging  me  on  my  allegiance  to  "the  cause,"  immedi- 
ately, and  without  loss  of  time,  to  write  articles  for  said 
papers  gratuitously,  to  circulate  said  pamphlets,  to  give 
favorable  notices  of  said  books,  and  instantly  to  find  lucra- 
tive situations  for  hosts  of  distressed  women  who  were 
tired  of  the  humdrum  treadmill  of  home-life,  and  who 
wished  to  have  situations  provided  where  there  was  no 
drudgery  and  no  labor,  but  very  liberal  compensation.  The 
whole  large  army  of  the  incapables, — the  blind,  the  halt,  the 
lame,  the  weary,  and  the  forlorn, — all  seemed  inclined  to 
choose  me  as  th  ir  captain,  and  to  train  under  my  banner. 
Because  I  had  got  into  a  subordinate  position  on  the  Great 
Democracy,  they  seemed  to  consider  that  it  was  my  imme- 
diate business  to  make  the  Great  Democracy  serve  their 
wants,  or  to  perish  in  the  attempt. 


I  AM  INTRODUCED  TO  THE  ILLUMINATI.     235 

My  friend,  Ida  Van  Arsdel,  was  a  serious,  large-minded, 
large-brained  woman,  who  had  laid  a  de<  p  and  comprehen- 
sive plan  of  life,  and  was  adherin  r  to  it  with  a  pat  ent  and 
silent  perseverance.  Still  she  1  ad  no  sympathy  in  that  class 
of  society  where  her  lot  was  cast.  Her  mother  and  her  Auut 
Maria  were  women  who  lived  and  breathed  merely  in  tbe 
opinions  of  their  set  and  circle,  and  were  as  incapable  of 
considering  any  higher  ideal  of  life,  or  any  unworldly  pur- 
pose, as  two  canary-birds.  Mr.  Van  Arsdel,  a  qui  t,  siieut 
man,  possessed  a  vein  of  good  sense  which  led  him  to 
appreciate  his  eldest  daughter  at  her  real  worth  ;  a,nd  he 
\\  as  not  insensible  to  the  pleasure  of  having  one  ft-minine 
companion  who,  as  he  phiased  it,  "  understood  business," 
and  with  whom  lie  could  talk  and  advise  uuderstandingly. 
But  even  he  had  no  sympathy  with  those  larger  views  of  tl.e 
wants  and  needs  of  womanhood,  in  view  of  which  Ida  wus 
acting.  It  followed  very  naturally  that  as  Ida  got  no  sym- 
pathy in  her  own  circle,  she  was  ltd  to  seek  it  in  the  widen- 
ing sphere  of  modern  reformers— a  circle  in  which  so  much 
that  is  fiue  and  excellent  and  practical,  is  inevitably  mixed 
witL  a  great  deal  that  is  crudj  and  excessive. 

At  h.-r  request  I  accompanied  her  and  Eva  one  evening  to 
a  sort  of  New- Dispensation  salon,  whicli  was  held  weekly 
at  the  house  of  Mrs.  Stella  Cerulean.  Mrs.  Stella  Cerulean 
was  a  brilliant  woman— beautii'ul  in  person,  full  of  genius, 
full  of  enthusiasm,  full  of  self -con  iide  nee,  the  most  charm- 
ing of  talkers,  and  the  most  fascinating  of  women.  Her 
career  from  early  life  had  been  one  of  those  dazzling  suc- 
cesses which  always  fall  to  tbe  lot  of  beauty,  seconded 
by  a  certain  amount  of  tact  and  genius.  Of  bota  these 
gifts  Mrs.  Cerulean  had  just  enough  to  bewilder  the  head 
of  any  gentleman  who  made  her  acquaintance.  She  had 
in  her  girlhood  made  the  tour  of  Europe,  shone  as  a  star 
in  the  courts  of  France  and  Russia,  and  might  be  excused 
for  a  more  than  ordinary  share  of  complacency  in  her 
successes.  In  common  with  handsome  women  generally, 
she  had,  during  the  greater  part  of  her  life,  never  heard 


236  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

anything  but  flattery  from  gentlemen,  and  it  always  agreed 
with  her  remarkably  well.  But  Mrs.  Cerulean  was  one  of 
those  women,  with  just  intellect  and  genius  enough  to  ren- 
der her  impatient  of  the  mere  com  in  on -pi  ace  triumphs  of 
beauty.  She  felt  the  intoxicating  power  of  the  personal  in- 
fluence which  she  possessed,  and  aspired  to  reign  in  the  re- 
gion of  the  mind  as  well  as  to  charm  the  senses.  She  felt 
herself  called  to  the  modern  work  of  society  regeneraiion, 
and  went  into  it  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  her  nature,  and 
with  all  that  certainty  of  success  which  comes  from  an  utter 
want  of  practical  experience.  Problems  which  old  states- 
men contemplated  with  perplexity,  which  had  been  the 
despair  of  ages,  she  took  up  with  a  cheerful  a  acrity. 

She  had  one  simple  remedy  for  the  reconstruction  of 
society  about  whose  immediate  application  she  saw  not 
the  slightest  difficulty.  It  was  simply  and  only  to  be 
done  by  giving  the  affairs  of  the  world  into  the  hands  of 
women,  forthwith.  Those  who  only  claim  equality  for 
women  were,  in  Mrs.  Cerulean's  view,  far  behind  the  age. 
Woman  was  the  superior  sex,  the  divine  sex.  Had  not 
every  gentleman  of  her  acquaintance,  since  she  could  re- 
member, told  her  this  with  regard  to  herself?  -Had  they 
not  always  told  her  that  she  could  know  everything  without 
study,  simply  by  the  divine  intuitions  of  womanhood  ; 
that  she  could  fl  ish  to  conclusions  without  reasoning,  sim- 
ply by  the  brilliancy  of  her  eyes;  that  her  purity  was  incor- 
ruptible in  its  very  nature;  that  all  her  impulses  were 
heavenly  and  GU>d -given?  Naturally  enough,  then.it  was 
her  deduction  that  all  that  was  wanting  to  heal  the  woes 
and  wants  of  society  was  that  she  and  other  such  inspired 
beings  should  immediately  take  to  themselves  their  power, 
and  reign. 

Such  is  a  general  sketch  of  Mrs.  Cerulean's  view  of  the 
proper  method  of  introducing  the  mi  lennium.  Meanwhile, 
she  did  her  part  in  it  by  holding  salons  once  a  week,  in 
which  people  entertaining  similar  views  met  for  the  pur- 
pose, apparently,  of  a  general  generation  of  gas,  without 


I  AM  INTRODUCED  TO  THE  1LLUMINATI.    2.°, 7 

any  particular  agreement  as  to  the  method  in  which  it  should 
be  applied.  This  was  the  company  of  people  to  whom  Eva 
rather  pathetically  alluded  in  one  of  her  conversations  once, 
as  such  nice  people,  who  were  so  very  puzzling  to  her, 
because  no  two  of  them  ever  seemed  to  think  alftre  on  any 
subject ;  and  all  agreed  in  opening  their  eyes  very  wide  in 
astonishment  if  anybody  quoted  the  Bible  to  them  as  an 
authority  in  faith  and  practice. 

Ida  was  much  courted  and  petted  by  this  circle.  And 
sensible,  good  girl  as  she  was,  she  was  not  wholly  without 
pleasure  in  the  admiration  they  showed  for  her.  Then, 
again,  there  were,  every  evening,  ventilated  in  this  company 
quantities*  of  the  most  splendid  and  heroic  ideas  possible 
to  human  beings.  The  whole  set  seemed  to  be  inspired 
with  the  spirit  of  martyrdom,  without  any  very  precise  idea 
of  how  to  get  martyred  effectually.  It  was  only  agreed  that 
everything  in  the  present  state  of  society  was  wrong,  and  was 
to  be  pulled  down  forthwith.  But  as  to  what  was  to  come 
after  this  demolition,  there  were  as  many  opinions  in  the 
circle  as  there  were  persons,  and  all  held  with  a  wonderful 
degree  of  tenacity.  A  portion  of  them  were  of  opinion  that 
a  new  dispensation  fresh  from  the  heavenly  realms  was 
being  inaugurated  by  means  of  spiritualistic  communica- 
tions daily  and  hourly  conveyed  to  privileged  individuals. 
It  was,  however,  unfortunate  that  these  communications 
were,  very  many  of  them,  in  point-blank  opposition  to  each 
other;  so  that  the  introduction  of  revelations  from  the  in- 
visible world  seemed  only  likely  to  make  the  confusion 
worse  co-founded.  Then  again,  as  to  all  the  existing  rela- 
tions of  life,  there  was  the  same  charming  variety  of  opin- 
ion. But  one  thing  seemed  to  be  pretty  generally  conceded 
among  the  whole  circle,  that  in  the  good  time  coming, 
nobody  was  ever  to  do  anything  that  he  did  not  want  to 
do,  or  feel  at  the  moment  just  like  doing.  The  greit  object 
of  existence  apparently  was  to  get  rid  of  everything  that 
was  disagreeable  and  painful.  Thus,  quite  a  party  of  them 
maintained  that  all  marriage  relations  ought  to  drop,  from 


238  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

the  moment  that  either  pirty  ceased  to  take  pleasure  in 
them,  without  any  regard  to  the  r.it^rest  of  the  other  party 
or  the  children  ;  because  the  fundamental  law  of  existence 
was  happiness— and  nothing  could  make  people  happy  but 
liberty  to  do  just  as  they  had  a  mind  to. 

I  must  confess  that  I  f  jund  my  evening  at  Mrs.  Cerulean'a 
salon  a  very  agreeable  one ;  the  conversation  of  thoroughly 
emancipated  people  has  a  sparkling  variety  to  it  which  is 
exactly  the  thing  to  give  one  a  lively,  pleasant  evening. 
Everybody  was  full  of  enthusiasm,  and  in  the  very  best  of 
spirits.  And  there  appeared  to  be  nothing  that  anybody 
was  afraid  to  say.  Nobody  was  startled  by  anything.  There 
was  not  a  question,  as  it  appeared,  that  had  b^en  agitated 
since  the  creation  of  the  world,  that  was  not  still  open  to 
discussion. 

As  we  were  walking  home  after  spending  an  evening, 
Ida  asked  me : 

"  Now,  Mr.  Henderson,  what  do  you  think  of  it  f 

"  Well,  Miss  Ida,"  said  I,  "  after  all,  I'm  a  believer  in  the 
old-fashioned  Bible." 

"  What,  really,  Mr.  Henderson  ?" 

"Really  and  squarely,  Miss  Ida.  And  never  more  so 
than  when  I  associate  with  very  clever  people  who  have 
given  it  up.  There  is,  to  my  mind,  a  want  of  common 
sense  about  all  theories  of  life  that  are  not  built  on  that." 

"  Well,"  said  Ida,  *'  I  have  long  since  made  up  my  mind, 
for  my  own  part,  that  if  the  cause  of  woman  is  to  be 
advanced  in  this  world,  it  is  not  so  much  by  meeting  to- 
gether and  talking  about  it,  as  by  each  individual  woman 
proposing  to  herself  some  good  work  for  the  sex,  and  setting 
about  it  patiently,  and  doing  it  quietly.  That  is  rather  my 
idea;  at  the  same  time,  I  like  to  hear  these  people  talk, 
and  they  certainly  are  a  great  contrast  to  the  vapid  people 
that  are  called  good  society.  There  is  a  freshness  and  ear- 
nestness of  mind  about  some  of  them  that  is  really  very 
interesting;  and  I  get  a  great  many  new  ideas." 

"For   my  part,"   said   Eva,  "to  be  sure  I  have  been 


I  AM  INTRODUCED  TO  THE  ILLUMINATI.     239 

a  sad  idler,  but  if  I  were  going  to  devote  myself  to  any 
work  for  women,  it  should  be  in  the  church,  and  under  the 
guidance  of  the  church.  I  am  sure  there  is  something  we 
can  do  there.  And  then,  one's  sure  of  not  running  into  all 
sorts  of  vagaries." 

"Now,"  said  Ida,  "all  I  want  is  that  women  should  do 
something  ;  that  the  lives  of  girls,  from  the  time  they  leave 
school  till  the  time  they  are  married,  should  not  bo  such  a 
perfect  waste  as  they  now  are.  I  do  not  profess  to  be 
certain  about  any  of  these  theories  that  I  hear ;  but  one 
thing  I  do  know :  we  women  will  bear  being  made  a  great 
deal  more  self-sustaining  and  self-supporting  than  we 
have  been.  We  can  be  more  efficient  in  the  world,  and  we 
ought  to  be.  I  have  chosen  ray  way,  and  mean  to  keep  to  it. 
And  my  idea  is  that  a  woman  who  really  does  accomplish  a 
life-work  is  just  like  one  that  cuts  the  first  path  through  a 
wood.  She  makes  a  way  where  others  can  walk." 

"That's  you,  Ida,"  said  Eva;  "but  I  am  not  strong 
enough  to  cut  first  paths." 

I  felt  a  little  nervous  flutter  of  her  hand  on  my  arm  as  she 
said  this.  It  was  in  the  dark,  and  involuntarily*  I  suppose, 
my  hand  went  upon  hers,  and  before  I  thought  of  it  I  felt 
the  little  warm  thing  in  my  own  as  if  it  had  been  a  young 
bird.  It  was  one  of  those  things  that  people  sometimes 
do  before  they  know  it.  But  I  noticed  that  she  did  not 
withdraw  her  hand,  and  so  I  held  it,  querying  in  my 
own  mind  whether  this  little  arrangement  was  one  of  the 
privileges  of  friendship.  Before  I  quite  resolved  this  ques- 
tion we  parted  at  the  house-door. 


MY  WIFE  AND  L 


CHAPTER     XXIII. 

I  RECEIVE  A  MORAL  SHOAVER-BATH. 

DAY  or  two  after,  as  I  was  sitting  in  my  room,  busy 
writing,  I  heard  a  light  footstep  on  the  stairs,  and 
a  voice  saying,  "Oh  yes!  this  is  Mr.  Henderson's 
room — tbank  you,"  and  the  next  moment  a  jaunty,  dashing 
young  woman,  with  bold  blue  eyes,  and  curling -brown  hair, 
with  a  little  wicked  looking  cap  with  nodding  cock's- feather 
set  askew  on  her  head,  came  marching  up  and  seated 
herself  at  my  writing-table.  I  gazed  in  blank  amazement. 
The  apparition  burst  out  laughing,  and  seizing  me  frankly 
by  the  hand,  said— 

4<  Look  here,  Hal !  don't  you  know  me  1  Well,  my  dear 
fellow,  if  you  don't  it's  time  you  did!  I  read  your  last 
'thingumajig'  in  the  Milky  Way,  and  came  round  to  make 
your  acquaintance." 

I  gazed  in  dumb  amazement  while  she  went  on, 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I  have  come  to  enlighten  you," — and  as 
she  said  this  she  drew  somewhat  near  to  me,  and  laid  her 
arm  confidingly  on  my  shoulder,  and  looked  coaxingly  in 
my  face.  The  look  of  amazement  which  I  gave,  under 
these  circumstances,  seemed  to  cause  her  great  amusement. 

"  Ha !  ha !"  she  said,  "  didn't  I  tell  'em  so  ?  You  ain't  half 
out  of  the  shell  yet.  You  ain't  really  hatched.  You  go 
for  the  emancipation  of  woman ;  but  bless  you,  boy,  you 
haven't  the  least  idea  what  it  means — not  a  bit  of  it,  sonny, 
have  you  now  ?  Confess !"  she  said,  stroking  my  shoulder 
caressingly. 

"Really,  madam— I  confess,"  I  said,  hesitatingly,  "I 
haven't  the  honor" — 

"Not  the  honor  of  my  acquaintance,  you  was  going  to 
say ;  well,  that's  exactly  what  you're  getting  now.  I  read 


THE  ADVANCED  WOMAN  OF  THE  PERIOD. 

**  1'ou  go  for  the  emancipation  of  woman;  but  bless  you,  boy,  you 
haven't  the  least  idea  what  it  means — not  a  bit  of  it,  sonny,  have  you  now  ;* 
Confess?  she  said,  stroK .f »(//»//  nhmilrtfr  <:<irett>iinoly. 


I  RECEIVE  A  MORAL  SHOWER-BATH.        241 

your  piece  in  tlie  Milky  Way,  and,  said  I,  that  boy's  in 
heathen  darkness  yet,  and  I'm  going  round  to  enlighten 
him.  You  mean  well,  Hal !  but  this  is  a  great  subject.  You 
haven't  seen  through  it.  Lord  bless  you,  child !  you  ain't 
a  woman,  and  1  am— that's  just  the  difference." 

Now,  I  ask  any  of  my  readers,  what  is  a  modest  young 
man,  in  this  nineteenth  century, — having  been  brought  up 
to  adore  and  reverence  woman  as  a  goddess — to  do,  when 
he  finds  himself  suddenly  vis-a-vis  with  her,  in  such  embar- 
rassing relations  as  mine  were  becoming  ?  I  had  fieard  be- 
fore of  Miss  Audacia  Dangyereyes,  as  a  somewhat  noted 
character  in  New  York  circles,  but  did  not  expect  to  be 
brought  so  unceremoniously,  and  without  the  least  prepara- 
tion of  mind,  into  such  very  intimate  relations  with  her. 

"  Now,  look  here,  bub !"  she  said,  "  I'm  just  a-going 
to  prove  to  you,  in  five  minutes,  that  you've  been  writ- 
ing about  what  you  don't  know  anything  about.  You've 
been  asserting,  in  your  blind  way,  the  rights  of  woman 
to  liberty  and  equality ;  the  rights  of  wome^,  in  short,  to  do 
anything  that  men  do.  Well,  here  comes  a  woman  to  your 
room  who  takes  her  rights,  practically,  and  does  just  what 
a  man  would  do.  I  claim  my  right  to  smoke,  if  I  please,  and 
to  drink  if  I  please;  and  to  come  up  into  your  room  and 
make  you  a  call,  and  have  a  good  time  with  you,  if  I  please, 
and  tell  you  that  I  like  your  looks,  as  I  do.  Furthermore, 
to  invite  you  to  come  and  call  on  me  at  ray  room.  Here's 
my  card.  You  may  call  me  'Dacia,  if  you  like — I  don't  go 
on  ceremony.  Come  round  and  take  a  smoke  with  me,  this 
evening,  won't  you  ?  I've  got  the  nicest  little  chamber  that 
ever  you  saw.  What  rent  do  you  pay  for  yours  ?  Say,  will 
you  come  round  ?" 

"  Indeed— thank  you,  miss " 

"  Call  me  'Dacia  for  short.  I  don't  stand  on  ceremony. 
Just  look  on  me  as  another  fellow.  And  now  confess  that 
you've  been  tied  and  fettered  t>y  those  vapid  convention- 
alities which  bind  down  women  till  there  is  no  strength  in 
'cm.  You  visit  in  those  false,  artificial  circles,  where  wo- 


242  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

men  are  slaves,  kept  like  canary  birds  in  gilded  cagos. 
And  you  are  afraid  of  your  own  principles  when  you  see 
them  carried  out  in  a  real  free  woman.  Xow,  I'm  a  woman 
that  not  only  dares  say,  but  I  dare  do.  Why  hasn't  a 
woman  as  much  a  right  to  go  round  and  make  herself 
agreeable  to  men,  as  to  sit  still  at  home  and  wait  for  men  to 
come  and  make  themselves  agreeable  to  her  ?  I  know  you 
don't  like  this,  I  can  see  you  don't,  but  it's  only  because 
you  are  a  slave  to  old  prejudices.  But  I'm  going  to  make 
you  like  me  in  spite  of  yourself.  Come,  now,  be  consistent 
with  your  principles;  allow  me  my  equality  as  a  woman, 
a  human  being." 

I  was  in  such  a  state  of  blank  amazement  by  this  time  as 
seemed  to  deprive  me  of  all  power  of  self-possession.  At 
this  moment  the  door  opened,  and  Jim  Fellows  appeared. 
A  most  ludicrous  grimace  passed  over  his  face  as  he  saw 
the  position  and  he  cut  a  silent  pirouette  in  the  air,  behind 
her.  She  turned  her  head,  and  he  advanced. 

"  Fairest  of  the  sex  !  (with  some  slight  exceptions)— to 
what  happy  accident  are  we  to  attribute  this  meeting  t" 

"  Hallo,  Jim  !  is  this  you  ?"  she  replied. 

"Oh,  certainly,  it's  me,"  said  Jim,  seating  himself  famil- 
iarly. "How  is  the  brightest  star  of  womanhood— the 
Northern  Light ;  the  Aurora  Borealis  ;  the  fairest  of  the 
fair?  Bless  its  little  heart,  has  it  got  its  rights  yet?  Did 
it  want  to  drink  and  smoke  ?  Conic  along  with  Jim,  now, 
and  let's  have  a  social  cocktail." 

"  Keep  your  distance,  sir,"  said  she,  giving  him  a  slight  box 
on  his  ear.  "  I  prefer  to  do  my  own  courting.  I  have  been 
trying  to  show  your  friend  here  how  little  he  knows  of  the 
true  equality  of  women,  and  of  the  good  time  coming,  when 
we  shall  have  our  rights,  and  do  just  as  we  darn  please, 
as  you  do.  I'll  bet  now  there  aint  one  of  those  Van  Arsdel 
girls  that  would  dare  to  do  as  I'm  doing.  But  we're  opening 
the  way  sir,  we're  opening,  the  way.  The  time  will  come 
when  all  women  will  be  just  as  free  to  life,  liberty  and  the 
pursuit  of  happiness,  as  men." 


1  RECEIVE  A  MORAL  SHOWER-BATH.        243 

"  Good  heavens  P  said  T,  under  my  breath. 

"My  beloved  Audacia,"  said  Jim,  "allow  me  to  remark 
one  little  thing,  and  that  is,  that  men  also  must  be  left  free 
to  the  pursuit  of  happiness,  and  also,  as  the  Scripture  says, 
sew  wine  must  not  be  put  into  old  bottles.  Now  my 
friend  Hal — begging  his  pardon — is  an  old  bottle,  and  I 
think  you  have  already  put  as  much  new  wine  into  him  as 
his  constitution  will  bear.  And  as  he  and  I  both  have  got 
to  make  our  living  by  scratching,  and  te  mp  us  fit  git,  and 
we've  got  articles  to  write,  and  there  is  always,  so  to  speak, 
the  devil  after  us  folks  that  write  for  the  press,  may  I  hum- 
bly request  that  you  will  withdraw  the  confusing  light 
of  your  bright  eyes  from  us  for  the  present,  and,  in  short, 
take  vour  divine  self  somewhere  else  *?" 

As  Jim  spoke  these  words,  he  passed  his  arm  round  Miss 
Audacia's  waist,  and  drew  her  to  the  door  of  the  apartment, 
which  he  threw  open,  and  handed  her  out,  bowing  with 
great  ceremony, 

"  Stop !"  she  cried,  "  I  aint  going  to  be  put  out  that  way. 
I  haven't  done  what  I  came  for.  You  both  of  you  have 
got  to  subscribe  for  my  paper,  The  Emancipated  Woman." 

"  Couldn't  do  it,  divinest  charmer,"  said  Jim,  "  couldn't 
do  it;  too  poor;  mill  runs  low;  no  water;  modest  merit 
not  rewarded.  Wait  till  my  ship  comes  in,  and  I'll  subscribe 
for  an}  thiug  you  like." 

"  Well,  now,  you  don't  get  rid  of  me  that  way.  I  tell  you 
I  came  in  to  get  a  subscription,  and  I  am  going  to  stay  till  I 
get  one,"  said  Miss  Audacia.  "Come,  Hal,"  she  said,  cross- 
ing once  more  to  me,  and  sitting  down  by  me  and  taking 
my  hand,  "wri^e  your  name  there,  there's  a  good  fellow." 

I  wrote  my  name  in  desperation,  while  Jim  stood  by, 
laughing. 

"Jim,"  I  said,  "come,  put  yours  down  quick,  and  let's 
have  it  over." 

"  Well,  now,"  said  she,  "  fork  out  the  stamps— five  dollars 
each." 

We  both  obeyed  mechanically. 


244  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  slie,  good  naturedly,  "that'll  do  for  this 
time,  good  morning,"  and  she  vanished  from  the  apartment 
with  a  jaunty  toss  of  the  head  and  a  nod  of  the  cock's 
feathers  in  her  hat. 

Jim  closed  the  door  smartly  after  her. 

"  Mercy  upon  us !  Jim,"  said  I,  "  who,  and  what  is  this 
creature  ?" 

"  Oh,  one  of  the  harbingers  of  the  new  millennium,"  said 
Jim.  "  Won't  it  be  jolly  when  all  the  girls  are  like  her? 
But  we  bhall  have  to  keep  our  doors  locked  then." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  is  it  possible,  Jim,  that  this  is  a  respecta- 
ble woman  *?" 

"She's  precisely  what  you  see,"  said  Jim;  "whether  that's 
respectable,  is  a  matter  of  op  nion.  There's  a  woman  that's 
undertaken,  in  good  faith,  to  run  and  jostle  in  all  the  ways 
that  men  run  in.  Her  principle  is,  that  whatever  a  young 
fellow  in  New  York  could  do,  she'li  do." 

"Good  heavens!"  said  I,  "what  would  the  Yan  Arsdels 
think  of  us,  if  they  should  know  that  she  had  been  in  our 
company  *?" 

"  It's  lucky  that  they  don't,  and  can't,"  said  Jim.  "  But 
you  see  what  you  get  for  belonging  to  the  new  dispen- 
sation." 

"  Boys,  what's  all  this  fuss  ?"  said  Bolton,  coming  in  at 
this  moment. 

'•  Oh,  no  thing,  only  Dacia  Dangyeeyes  has  been  here,"  said 
Jim,  "and  poor  Hal  is  ready  to  faint  away  and  sink  through 
the  floor.  He  isn't  up  to  snuff  yet,  for  all  he  writes  such 
magnificent  articles  about  the  nineteenth  century." 

"Well,"  said  I,  "it  was  woman  as  woman  that  I  was 
speaking  of,  and  not  this  kind  of  creature.  If  I  believed 
that  granting  larger  liberty  and  wider  opportunities  was 
going  to  change  the  women  we  reverence  to  things  like 
these,  you  would  never  find  me  advocating  it." 

"Well,  my  dear  Hal,"  said  Bolton,  "be  comforted;  you're 
not  the  first  reformer  that  has  had  to  cry  out,  *  Deliver  me 
from  my  friends.'  Always  when  the  waters  of  any  noble, 


1  RECEIVE  A  MORAL  SHOWER-BATH.         245 

enthusiasm  rise  and  overflow  their  banks,  there 
must  come  down  the  drift-wood— the  wood,  hay,  and  stub- 
hie.  Luther  had  more  trouble  with  the  fanatics  of  his  day, 
who  ran  his  principles  into  the  ground,  as  they  say,  than 
lie  had  with  the  Pope  and  the  Emporor,  both  together.  As 
to  this  Miss  Audacia,  she  is  one  of  the  phenomenal  creations 
of  our  times  ;  this  time,  when  every  kind  of  practical  expe- 
riment in  life  has  got  to  be  tried,  and  stand  or  fall  on  its 
own  merits.  So  don't  be  ashamed  of  having  spoken  the 
truth,  because  crazy  people  and  fools  caricature  it.  It  is 
true,  as  you  have  said,  that  women  ought  to  be  allowed  a 
freer,  stronger,  and  more  generous  education  and  scope  for 
their  faculties.  It  is  true  that  they  ought,  everywhere,  to 
have  equal  privileges  with  men ;  and  because  some  crack- 
brained  women  draw  false  inferences  from  this,  it  is  none 
the  less  true.  For  my  part,  I  always  said  that  one  must 
have  a  strong  conviction  for  a  cause,  if  he  could  stand  the 
things  its  friends  say  for  it,  or  read  a  weekly  paper  devoted 
to  it.  If  I  could  have  been  made  a  pro-slavery  man,  it 
would  have  been  by  reading  anti-slavery  papers,  and  vice 
rcrsa.  I  had  to  keep  myself  on  a  good  diet  of  pro-slavery 
papers,  to  keep  my  zeal  up." 

"  But,"  said  I,  anxiously,  to  Jim,  "  do  you  suppose  that 
we're  going  to  be  exposed  to  the  visits  of  this  young 
woman  ?" 

"Well," said  Jim,  "as  you've  subscribed  for  her  paper, 
perhaps  she'll  let  us  alone  till  she  has  some  other  -point  to 
carry." 

"  Subscribe !"  said  I ;  "  I  did  it  from  compulsion,  to  get 
her  out  of  the  office ;  [  didn't  think  the  situation  respect- 
able ;  and  yet  I  don't  want  her  paper,  and  I  don't  want  my 
name  on  her  subscription  list.  What  if  the  Van  Arsdels 
should  find  it  out  ?  People  are  apt  enough  to  think  that  our 
doctrines  lead  to  all  sorts  of  outrf  consequences;  and  if 
Mrs.  Wouverman,  their  Aunt  Maria,  should  once  get  hold 
of  this,  and  it  should  get  all  through  the  circle  in  which 
they  move,  how  disagreeable  it  would  be." 


246  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

"  Oh,  never  fear,"  said  Jim  ;  "  I  guess  we  can  manage  to 
keep  our  own  secrets;  and  as  to  any  of  them  ever  know- 
ing, or  seeing,  anything  about  that  paper,  it's  out  of  the 
question.  Bless  you !  they  wouldn't  touch  it  with  a  pair  of 
tongs!" 


A  UXT  MARIA.  24  7 


CHAPTER     XXIV. 

AUNT  MARIA. 

]UNT  MARIA  caine  iuto  the  parlor  where  Eva  and 
Alice  were  chatting  over  their  embroidery.  A 
glance  showed  that  she  had  been  occupied  in  that 
sensible  and  time-honored  method  of  keeping  up  the  social 
virtues,  which  is  called  making  calls.  She  was  all  plumed 
and  rustling  in  flowers  and  laces,  and  had  on  her  calling 
manners.  She  had  evidently  been  smiling  and  bowing  and 
inquiring  after  people's  health,  and  saying  pretty  and  obli- 
ging things,  till  the  very  soul  within  her  was  quite  dried 
up  and  exhausted.  For  it  must  be  admitted  that  to  be 
obliged  to  remember  and  inquire  for  every  uncle,  aunt 
and  grandmother,  every  baby,  and  young  master  and  miss 
in  a  circle  of  one's  three  hundred  particular  friends,  is  an 
exercise  of  Christian  benevolence  very  fatiguing.  Aunt 
Maria,  however,  always  went  through  with  it  with  exhaus- 
tive thoroughness,  so  that  everybody  said,  What  a  kind- 
liearted,  pleasant  woman  that  Mrs.  Wouverman  is . 

"Well,  there!"  she  said,  throwing  herself  into  an  arm- 
chair, "I've  nearly  cleared  my  list,  thank  heaven!  I  think 
Lent  is  a  grand  good  season  to  get  these  matters  off  your 
mind.  You  know  Mr.  Selwyn  said  last  Sunday,  that  it  was 
the  time  to  bring  ourselves  up  to  the  disagreeable  duties." 

"  How  many  have  you  made,  aunty?"  said  Eva. 

"Just  three  dozen,  my  dear.  You  see  I  chose  a  nice  day 
when  a  good  many  are  sure  to  be  out.  That  shortens  mat- 
ters a  good  deal.  Well,  girls,  I've  been  to  the  Elmore's. 
You  ought  to  see  what  a  state  they  are  in  !  In  all  my  expe- 
rience I  never  saw  people  so  perfectly  tipped  over,  and 
beside  themselves  with  delight.  I'm  sure  if  I  were  they  I 
wouldn't  show  it  quite  so  plain." 


248  MY  WIFE  ^LXD  I. 

11 1  suppose,"  said  Alice,  "  they  are  quite  benignant  and 
patronizing  to  us  no\v." 

"Patronizing!  Well,  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  Poll 
Elmore  and  her  airs !  You  would  have  thought  her  a  duch- 
ess from  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain,  and  no  less !  She  was 
so  very  sweet  and  engaging !  Dear  me,  she  patronized  me 
within  an  inch  of  my  life  ;  and  '  How  are  your  dear  girls  V 
she  said.  'All  the  world  is  expecting  to  hear  some  news 
of  Miss  Eva,  should  we  soon  have  an  opportunity  of  return- 
ing congratulations  V  " 

"  Oh,  pshaw !  aunt,"  said  Eva  uneasily,  "  what  did  you 
say?" 

"  Oh  !  I  told  her  that  Eva  was  in  no  hurry,  that  she  was 
very  reticent  of  her  private  affairs,  and  did  not  think  it  in 
good  taste  to  proclaim  them.  'Ah,  then,  there  really  is 
something  in  it,'  said  she.  I  was  telling  my  girls  perhaps 
after  all  it  is  mere  report ;  people  say  so  many  things. 
'  The  thing  was  reported  about  Maria,'  she  said,  '  long 
before  there  was  any  truth  in  it' ;  and  then  she  went  on 
to  tell  me  how  much  Maria  had  been  admired,  and  how 
many  offers  she  had  rejected,  and  among  other  things  she 
said  that  Mr.  Sidney  had  been  at  her  disposal, — only  she 
couldn't  fancy  him.  '  You  know,'  she  said  with  a  sentimental 
air,  that '  the  heart  is  all  in  such  cases.1 " 

"  How  perfectly  absurd  of  her,"  said  Eva. 

"  I  know,"  said  Alice  eagerly,  "  that  Wat  Sidney  doesnt't 
like  Maria  Elmore.  She  was  perfectly  wild  after  him,  and 
used  to  behave  so  that  it  really  disgusted  him." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Eva,  "  all  these  things  are  excessively 
disagreeable  to  me ;  it  seems  to  me  where  such  matters  are 
handled  and  talked  about  and  bandied  about,  they  become 
like  shop-worn  goods,  utterly  disgusting.  Who  wants  every 
fool  and  fop  and  every  gossip  who  has  nothing  better  to 
do  talking  over  what  ought  to  be  the  most  private  and  deli- 
cate affairs  of  one's  own  heart !" 

"Well,  dear,  you  can't  help  it  in  society.  Why,  every 
person  where  I  have  called  inquired  about  your  engage- 


AUNT  MARIA.  249 

ment  to  Wat  Sidney.  You  see  you  can't  keep  a  thing  of 
this  sort  private.  Of  course  you  can't.  You  are  in  the 
world,  and  the  world  will  have  you  do  as  others  do.  Of 
course  I  didn't  announce  it,  because  I  have  uo  authority ; 
but  the  thing:  is  just  as  much  out  as  if  I  had.  There  was 
old  Mrs.  Ellis,  dear  old  soul,  said  to  me, '  Give  my  love  to 
dear  Eva,  and  tell  her  I  hope  she'll  be  happy.  I  suppose,' 
she  added, '  I  may  send  congratulations,  though  it  isn't  an- 
nounced.' Oh,  said  T,  Eva  doe&n't  like  to  have  matters  of 
this  sort  talked  about." 

"  But  aunty,"  said  Eva,  who  had  been  coloring  with  vexa- 
tion, "  this  is  all  gratuitous— you  are  all  engaging  and  mar- 
rying me  in  spite  of  my  screams  as  appears.  I  am  not 
engaged  to  Mr.  Sidney,  and  never  expect  to  be ;  he  is  gone 
off  on  a  long  Southern  tour,  and  I  hope  out  of  sight  will  be 
out  of  mind,  and  people  will  stop  talking." 

"  But  my  dear  Eva,  really  now  you  ought  not  to  treat  a 
nice  man  like  him  in  that  way." 

"  Treat  him  in  what  way  f  said  Eva. 

"  Why,  keep  him  along  in  this  undecided  manner  without 
giving  him  a  definite  answer." 

"  He  might  have  had  a  definite  answer  any  time  in  the 
last  three  months  if  he  had  asked  for  it.  It  isn't  my  busi- 
ness to  speak  till  I'm  spoken  to." 

"You  don't  mean,  Eva,  that  he  has  gone  off  without 
saying  anything  definite — bringing  matters  to  a  point." 

"I  do  mean  just  that,  Aunty,  and  what's  more  I'm  glad 
he's  gone,  and  1  hope  before  he  comes  back  he'll  see  some- 
body that  he  likes  better,  and  then  it'll  be  all  off;  and, 
Aunty,  if  any  one  speaks  to  you  about  it  you'll  oblige  me  by 
saying  decidedly  there  is  nothing  in  it." 

"  Well,  I  shan't  say  there  never  has  been  anything  in  it. 
I  shall  say  you  refused  him." 

"  And  why  so  ?  I  am  not  anxious  to  have  the  credit  of 
it,  and  besides  I  think  it  is  indelicate  when  a  man  has  paid 
a  lady  the  highest  possible  compliment  he  can  pay,  to  make 
a  public  parade  of  it.  Its  sufficient  to  say  there  is  nothing 


250  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

in  it  and  never  will  be  ;  its  nobody's  business  how  it  hap- 
pened." 

"  Oh,  come  Eva,  don't  say  there  never  will  be  anything 
in  it.  That  is  a  subject  on  which  girls  are  licensed  to 
change  their  minds." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Alice,  "  I  only  wish  it  were  I.  I'd 
have  him  in  a  minute. .  Aunty,  did  you  see  that  nobby 
plia3ton  he  was  driving  the  last  day  he  was  on  the  park ; 
those  horses,  and  that  white  fur  lap-robe,  with  the  long 
pluffy  hair  like  silver*?  I  must  say,  Eva,  I  think  you  are 
a  little  goose." 

"  I've  no  objection  to  the  park  photon,  or  horses  or  lap- 
robe  ;  but  it  isn't  those  I'm  to  marry,  you  see." 

"  But  Eva,"  said  Aunt  Maria,  "  if  you  wouldn't  fancy 
such  a  match  as  Wat  Sidney,  who  would  you?  he  is  a  man 
of  correct  and  temperate  habits,  and  that's  more  than  you 
can  say  of  half  the  men." 

"  But  a  woman  doesn't  necessarily  want  to  make  her  most 
intimate  and  personal  friend  of  a  mail  merely  because  he 
doesn't  drink,7'  said  Eva. 

"  But  he's  good  looking." 

"So  they  say,  but  not  to  me,  not  my  style.  In  short, 
aunty,  /  don't  love  him,  and  never  should ;  and  if  I  were 
tied  too  close  to  him  might  end  by  hating  him.  As  it  is,  he 
and  I  are  the  best  friends  possible.  I  hope  we  always  shall 
stay  so." 

"  Well,  I  should  like  to  know  who  ever  will  suit  you  Eva," 
said  Aunt  Maria. 

"  Oh,  he  will  come  along,  Aunty,  never  fear !  I  shall 
know  him  when  I  see  him,  and  I  dare  say  everybody  will 
wonder  what  in  the  world  possessed  me,  but  /  shall  be 
content.  I  know  exactly  what  I  want,  I'm  like  the  old  party 
in  the  Ancient  Mariuer.  I  sball  know  when  I  see  him  *  the 
man  that  must  have  me,'  and  then  I  shall  '  hold  him  with 
my  glittering  eye.' " 

"  Well,  Eva,  you  must  remember  one  thing.  •  There  are 
not  many  men  able  to  keep  you  in  the  way  you  always  have 
lived." 


AUNT  MARIA.  251 

"  Then,  when  the  right  one  comes  I  shall  live  as  he  is  able 
to  keep  me." 

"  Go  to  housekeeping  in  three  rooms,  perhaps.  You  look 
like  it." 

"Yes;  and  do  my  own  cooking.  I'm  rather  fond  of 
cooking ;  I  have  decided  genius  that  way  too.  Ask  Jane 
down  in  the  kitchen  if  I  don't  make  splendid  fritters.  The 
fact  is,  Aunty,  I  have  so  much  superfluous  activity  and 
energy  that  I  should  be  quite  thrown  away  on  a  rich  man. 
A  po&r  country  rector,  very  devout,  with  dark  eyes  like 
Longfellow's  Kavanah  is  rather  my  ideal.  1  would  get  up 
his  surplices  myself,  and  make  him  such  lovely  frontals  and 
altar  cloths!  Why  doesn't  somebody  of  that  sort  come 
after  me  ?  I'm  quite  impatient  to  have  a  sphere  and  show 
what  1  can  do." 

"  Well,"  said  Alice,  "you  don't  catch  me  marrying  a  poor 
man.  Not  I.  No  home  missionaries,  nor  poor  rectors,  nor 
distressed  artists  need  apply  at  this  office." 

"Now,  girls,"  said  Aunt  Maria,  "let  me  tell  you  it's  all 
very  pretty  at  your  turn  of  life  to  dream  about  love  in  a 
cottage  and  all  that,  but  when  you  have  seen  all  of  life  that 
I  have,  you  will  know  the  worth  of  the  solid ;  when  one  has 
been  used  to  a  certain  way  of  living,  for  example,  one  can't 
change;  and  if  you  married  the  angel  Gabriel  without 
money,  you  would  soon  repent  it." 

"  Well,"  said  Eva,  "  I'd  risk  it  if  Gabriel  would  have  me, 
and  I'd  even  try  it  witli  some  man  a  little  lower  than  the 
angels ;  so  prepare  your  mind  to  endure  it,  Aunty,  for  one 
of  tbese  days  everybody  will  be  holding  up  their  hands  and 
saying,  What,  Eva  Van  Arsdel  engaged  to  him!  Why, 
what  could  have  possessed  her  If  That's  just  the  way  I 
heard  Lottie  Simmons  talking  last  week  about  Belle  St. 
John's  engagement.  She  is  going  to  marry  a  college  pro- 
fessor in  New  Haven  on  one  of  those  very  homoeopathic 
doses  of  salary  that  people  give  to  really  fine  men  that 
have  talent  and  education,  and  she's  just  as  happy  as  she 
can  be  about  it,  and  the  girls  are  all  scraping  their  throats, 


WIFE  AND  L 


'  oh-ing  and  ah-ing'  and  wondering  what  could  have  led  her 
to  it.  No  engagement  ring  to  show  !  private  wedding  !  and 
just  going  off  together  up  to  his  mother's  in  Vermont 
instead  of  making  the  bridal  tour  of  all  the  watering  places  ! 
It  must  be  so  charming,  you  see,  to  be  exhibited  as  a  new 
bride,  along  with  all  the  other  new  brides  at  Trenton  and 
Niagara  and  the  White  Mountains,  so  that  everybody  may 
have  a  chance  to  compare  your  finery  with  everybody 
else's,  also  to  see  how  you  conduct  yourself  in  new  circum- 
stances. For  my  part  I  shall  be  very  glad  if  my  poor  rector 
can't  afford  it  " 

"By  the  by,  speaking  of  that  girl,"  said  Aunt  Maria, 
"  what  are  you  going  to  wear  to  the  wedding.  It's  quite 
time  you  were  attending  to  that.  I  called  in  at  Tullegig's, 
and  of  course  she  was  all  in  a  whirl,  but  I  put  in  for  you. 
'Now,  Madame,'  said  I,  'you  must  leave  a  place  in  your 
mind  for  my  girls,'  and  of  course  she  went  on  with  her 
usual  French  rodomontade,  but  I  assure  you  you'll  have 
to  look  after  her.  Tullegig  has  no  coDscience,  and  will  put 
you  off  with  anything  she  can  make  you  take,  unless  you 
give  your  mind  to  it  and  follow  her  up." 

"Well,  I'm  sure,  aunty,  I  don't  feel  equal  to  getting  a 
new  dress  out  of  Tullegig,"  said  Eva,  with  a  sigh,  "  and  I 
have  dresses  enough,  any  one  of  which  will  do.  I  am  blasee 
with  dresses,  and  I  think  weddings  are  a  drug.  If  there's 
anything  that  I  think  downright  vulgar  and  disagreeable 
it's  this  style  of  blaring,  flaring,  noisy,  crowded  disagree- 
able modern  weddings.  It  is  a  crush  of  finery  ;  a  smash  of 
china  ;  a  confusion  of  voices  ;  and  everybody  has  the  head- 
ache after  it;  it's  a  perfect  infliction  to  think  of  being 
obliged  to  go  to  another.  FOT  my  part  I  believe  I  am  going 
to  leave  all  those  cares  to  Alice  ;  she  is  come  out  now,  and  I 
am  only  Queen  Dowager." 

"  Oh  pshaw,  Eva,  don't  talk  so  ,"  said  Aunt  Maria,  "  and 
now  I  think  of  it  you  don't  look  well,  you  ought  to  take  a 
tonic  in  the  Spring.  Let  me  see,  Calisaya  Bark  and  iron  is 
just  the  thing.  I'll  send  you  in  a  bottleful  from  Jennings 


AUNT  MARIA.  253 

as  I  go  home,  and  you  must  take  a  tablespoonful  three  times 
a  day  after  eating,  and  be  veiy  particular  not  to  fatigue 
yourself." 

"I  think,"  said  Alice,  "that  Eva  gets  tired  going  to  all 
those  early  services." 

"Oh  my  dear  child,  yes;  how  can  you  think  of  such  a 
thing?  It's  very  inconsiderate  in  Mr.  Selwyn,  I  think,  to 
have  so  many  services  when  he  must  know  many  weddings 
and  things  are  coming ott*  just  after  Easter.  People  will  be 
all  fagged  out,  just  as  Eva  is.  Now  I  believe  in  the  church 
as  much  as  anybody,  but  in  our  day  I  think  there  is  danger 
in  running  religion  to  extremes." 

"  Ah !"  said  Eva,  "  I  suppose  there  is  no  danger  of  one 
funning  to  extremes  in  anything  but  religion — in  dress  or 
parties  for  instance  F 

"  But  you-know  one  has  these  things  to  attend  to,  my 
dear;  one  must  keep  up  a  certain  style;  and  of  course, 
there  is  a  proper  medium  that  I  hold  to  as  much  as  any- 
body. Nobody  is  more  particular  about  religion  in  its 
place  than  I  am.  I  keep  Sunday  strictly  ;  very  few  people 
more  so.  I  never  ride  in  the  park  Sundays,  nor  write  a  let- 
ter, though  I  have  seen  people  who  called  themselves  relig- 
ious that  would.  No.  I  believe  in  giving  full  observance 
to  the  Lord's  day,  but  then  I  think  one  ought  to  have  the 
woeK  clear  for  action.  That  belongs  to  us,  as  I  view  it,  and 
our  old  rector  was  very  easy  with  us  about  all  the  Saint's 
days,  and  week-day  services,  and  things  in  the  prayer-book. 
To  be  sure  there  are  Ash  Wednesday  and  Good  Friday. 
One,  of  course,  should  attend  to  these,  that  is  no  more  than 
is  proper,  but  the  way  Mr.  Selwyn  goes  on!  why,  one 
wouldn't  be  able  to  think  of  much  else  than  religion  if 
he  had  his  way." 

"  What  a  dreadful  state  of  society  that  would  bring  on !" 
said  Eva. 

"  But  come,  Aunty,"  said  Alice,  "  don't  talk  theology,  tell 
us  what  discoveries  you  made  at  the  Elinore's.  I  know  they 
showed  you  everything." 


254  t  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

"Oh,  of  course  they  did.  Well  there's  the  wedding:  veil, 
cost  two  thousand  dollars;  for  my  part  I  thought  it  looked 
ordinary  after  all ;  it's  so  thick  and  stiff  with  embroidery, 
you  see,  no  lightness  to  it." 

"  I  wouldn't  take  it  as  a  gift,'*  said  Eva.  "  I  think  such 
expensive  things  are  simply  vulgar." 

"  Go  on,  Aunty,"  said  Alice,  "what  next?" 

"  Well,  then  the  dress  has  a  new  style  of  trimming,  and 
really  is  very  elegant.  I  mu?t  do  it  the  just'ce  to  sny  that 
it's  something  quite  recherche.  And  then  they  took  me  up 
stairs  to  see  the  trousseau,  and  there  was  a  perfect  bazar ! 
all  her  things  laid  out  by  dozens  and  tied  up  with  pink 
ribbons,— you  would  have  thought  it  got  for  the  Empress. 
Those  Elmores  are  the  most  worldly  family  I  ever  did  hear 
of ;  all  for  dash  and  show !  They  seemed  to  be  perfectly 
transported  with  these  things, — and  that  reminds  me,  Eva, 
I  noticed  last  Sunday  at  cimrch  your  new  poplin  suit  was 
made  with  quislings;  now  they  are  not  going  to  wear  quill- 
ings any  more.  I  noticed  cone  of  those  Paris  dresses  had 
it.  You  should  have  Jacobs  alter  yours  at  once,  and  substi- 
tute fringes ;  fringes  is  the  style  now." 

"  And,  Aunty,  what  do  you  suppose  would  happen  to  me 
if  I  should  wear  quillings  when  THEY  don't  ?"  said  Eva. 

"  Well,  of  course,  you  don't  want  to  be  odd,  child.  There 
is  a  certain  propriety  in  all  these  things.  I  will  speak  to 
Jacobs  about  it,  and  send  him  up  here.  Shall  I  ?" 

"Well,  Aunty,  anything  to  suit  you.  You  may  take  off 
quillings,  or  put  on  fringe,  if  you  won't  insist  on  marrying 
me  to  anybody,"  said  Eva;  "only  I  do  wish  any  one  fashion 
would  last  long  er.ough  to  give  one  time  to  breathe  and  turn 
round  before  it  has  to  be  altered ,  but  the  Bible  says  the 
fashion  of  this  world  passeth  quickly  away,  and  so  I  sup- 
pose one  must  put  up  with  it." 

"  Eva,  do  you  correspond  with  Mr.  Sydney  ?"  said  Aunt 
Maria,  after  a  moment's  reflection. 

"Correspond1?  No,  to  be  sure  I  don't.  What  should  I 
do  that  for  F 

"  He  writes  to  mamma,  though,"  Eaid  Alice,  laughing. 


AUNT  MARIA.  255 

"  It's  his  own  affair,  if  he  does,"  said  Eva.  "  I  told  him, 
before,  he  went,  I  never  corresponded  with  gentlemen.  I 
believe  that  is  the  correct  tiling  to  say.  I  never  mean  to, 
either,  unless  it's  with  one  whose  letters  are  particularly  in- 
teresting to  me." 

"  How  do  you  like  that  young  Henderson  P 

"  What,  Ida's  admirer?"  said  Eva,  coloring.  "Oh,  we  think 
him  nice  enough.  Don't  we  Alice  ?—  rather  jolly,  in  fact." 

"  And  does  Ida  continue  gracious?" 

"Certainly.  They  are  the  best  of  friends,"  said  Eva. 
"The  fact  is,  he  is  quite  a  fine  fellow;  and  he  reads  things 
to  Ida,  and  she  advises  him  about  his  style,  you  know.'' 

"  He  and  Jim  Fellows  always  come  together,"  said  Alice ; 
"  and  1  think  they  are  both  nice — in  fact,  rather  better  than 
the  average.  He  isn't  quite  such  a  rattle-cap  as  Jim,  but 
one  trusts  him  more." 

"Well,"  said  Eva,  "  I  don't  like  a  professed  joker.  A  man 
that  never  is  in  earnest  ought  to  wear  the  cap  and  bells,  as 
the  court  fools  used  to  do  in  old  times." 

"  0,  bless  you,  child,"  said  Alice,  "  that's  what  Jim  is  for; 
he  always  makes  me  laugh,  and  I  like  to  laugh." 

"  Don't  you  think  that  Mr.  Henderson  would  do  nicely  for 
Ida,"  said  Aunt  Maria. 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,"  said  Alice,  "  neither  he  nor  Jim  Fellows 
are  marrying  men.  You  see  they  haven't  anything,  and  of 
course  that  they  can't  be  thinking  of  such  things." 

*'  But,"  said  Aunt  Maria,  "  Ida  is  just  the  wife  for  a  poor 
man.  She  has  a  turn  for  economy,  and  doesn't  care  for 
dress  and  show ;  and  could  rub  and  scrub  along,  and  belp 
to  support  the  family.  I  really  think  she  likes  work  for  the 
sake  of  it.  I  wisli  to  mercy  she  could  be  engaged,  and  get 
all  these  dreadful  queer  plans  and  notions  out  of  her  head. 
I  am  always  so  puzzled  what  in  the  world  to  tell  people 
win -n  they  ask  why  she  doesn't  visit  and  go  into  society." 

"Why  not  tell  the  truth,"  said  Eva,  "that  she  prefers 
to  help  papa  in  his  business." 

"  Because,  love,  that's  so  odd.  People  can't  understand  it." 


30"  WIFE  AND  I. 


"  They  can't  understand,"  said  Eva,  "  that  a  woman  may 
be  tired  of  leading  a  lazy  life,  and  want  to  use  her  faculties. 
Well,  I'm  sure  Jean  understand  it.  I'd  give  all  the  world 
to  feel  that  I  was  of  as  much  real  use  to  anybody  as  Ida  is 
to  papa  ;  and  I  think  papa  likes  it  too.  Poor,  dear  old  papa, 
with  his  lovely  old  white  head,  who  just  toils  and  slaves  for 
us.  I  wish  I  could  help  him  too." 

"  Well,  dear,  I  can  tell  you  how  you  can  help  him." 

"How?" 

"  Marry  Wat  Sydney." 

"  Nonsense,  Aunt,  what  has  that  to  do  with  papa  f  ' 

"  It  would  have  more  to  do  than  you  think,"  said  Aunt 
Maria,  shaking  her  head,  mysteriously. 


THE   \VUMAX  QUESTION.  257 


CHAPTER     XXY. 

A  DISCUSSION  OP  THE  WOMAN  QUESTION  FROM  ALL  POINTS. 

[HE  bold  intrusion  of  Miss  Audacia  Dan gereyes into 
.my  apartment  had  left  a  most  disagreeable  impres- 
sion on  my  mind.  This  was  not  lessened  by  the  re- 
ception of  her  paper,  which  came  to  hand  in  due  course  of 
next  mail ;  and  which  I  found  to  be  an  exposition  of  all  the 
wildest  priueiplesof  modern  French  communism.  It  consist- 
ed of  attacks  directed  about  equally  against  Christianity, 
marriage,  the  family  state,  and  all  human  laws  and  standing 
order,  whatsoever.  It  was  much  the  same  kiud  of  writing 
with  which  the  populace  of  France  was  indoctrinated  and 
leavened  in  the  era  preceding  the  first  revolution,  and 
which  in  time  bore  fruit  in,  blood.  In  those  days,  as  now, 
such  doctrines  were  toyed  with  in  literary  salons  and  aris- 
tocratic circles,  where  their  novelty  formed  an  agreeable 
stimulus  in  the  vapid  common-place  of  fashionable  life. 
They  were  then,  as  now,  embraced  with  enthusiasm  by  fair 
illuminati,  who  fancied  that  they  saw  in  them  a  dawn  of 
some  millennial  glory;  and  were  awakened  from  their 
dream,  like  Madame  Roland,  at  the  foot  of  the  guillotine, 
bowing  their  heads  to  death  and  crying,  "O  Liberty,  what 
things  are  done  in  thy  name  !" 

The  principal  difference  between  the  writers  on  the  Eman- 
cipated Woman,  and  those  of  the  French  illuminati,  was  that 
the  French  prototypes  were  men  and  women  of  elegance, 
culture,  and  education ;  whereas  their  American  imitators, 
though  not  wanting  in  a  certain  vigor  and  cleverness,  were 
both  coarse  in  expression,  narrow  in  education,  and  wholly 
devoid  of  common  decency  in  their  manner  of  putting 


258  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

things.  It  was  a  paper  that  a  man  who  reverenced  his 
mother  and  sisters  could  scarcely  read  alone  in  his  own 
apartments  without  blushing  with  indignation  and  vexa- 
tion. 

Every  holy  secret  of  human  nature,  all  those  subjects  of 
which  the  grace  and  the  power  consists  in  t'leir  exquisite 
delicacy  and  tender  refinement,  were  here  handled  with 
coarse  fingers.  Society  assumed  the  aspect  of  a  pack  of 
breeding  animals,  and  all  its  laws  and  institutions  were  to 
return  to  the  mere  animal  basis. 

It  was  particularly  annoying  to  me  that  this  paper,  with 
all  its  coarseness  and  grossness,  set  itself  up  to  be  the  head 
leader  of  Woman's  Rights ;  and  to  give  its  harsh  clamors  as 
the  voice  of  woman.  Neither  was  I  at  all  satisfied  with  the 
manner  in  which  I  had  been  dragooned  oto  taking  it,  and 
thus  giving  my  name  and  money  to  its  circulation.  I  had 
actually  been  bullied  into  it;  because,  never  having  con- 
templated the  possibility  of  such  an  existence  as  a  female 
bully,  I  had  marked  out  in  my  mind  no  suitable  course  of 
conduct  adequate  to  the  treatment  of  one.  "  What  should 
I  have  done?"  I  said  to  myself.  'SVhat  is  a  man  to  do 
under  such  circumstances  ?  Shall  he  engage  in  a  personal 
scuffle  ?  Shall  he  himself  vacate  his  apartment,  or  shall  he 
call  in  a  policeman  *?" 

The  question  assumed  importance  in  my  eyes,  because  it 
was  quite  possible  that,  having  come  once,  she  might  come 
again ;  that  the  same  course  of  conduct  might  be  used  to 
enforce  any  kind  of  exaction  which  she  should  choose  to 
lay  on  me.  But,  most  of  all  was  I  sensitive,  lest  by  any 
means  some  report  of  it  might  get  to  the  Van  Arsdels.  My 
trepidation  may  then  be  guessed,  on  having  the  subject  at 
once  proposed  to  me  by  Mr.  Van  Arsdel  that  evening  as  I 
was  sitting  with  him  and  Ida  in  her  study. 

"  I  want  to  know,  Mr.  Henderson,"  he  said,  "if  you  area 
subscriber  for  the  Emancipated  Woman,  the  new  organ  of 
the  Woman's  Rights  party  f 

"  Now,  papa,"  said  Ida,  "  that  is  a  little  unjust !    It  only 


THE  WOMAN  QUESTMX.  259 

professes  to  be  an  organ  of  the  party,  but  it  is  not  recog- 
nized by  us." 

"  Have  you  seen  the  paper1?"  said  Mr.  Van  Arsdel  to  me. 

Like  a  true  Yankee  I  avoided  the  question  by  asking 
another. 

"  Have  you  subscribed  to  it,  Mr.  Van  Arsdel  ?" 

"Well,  yes,"  said  he  laughing,  "  I  confess  1  have ;  and  a 
pretty  mess  I  have  made  of  it.  It  is  not  a  paper  that  any 
decent  man  ought  to  have  in  his  house.  But  the  woman 
G'jme  herself  into  my  counting-room  and,  actually,  she 
badgered  me  into  it ;  I  couldn't  get  her  out.  I  didn't  know 
•what  to  do  with  her.  I  never  had  a  woman  go  on  so  with  me 
before.  I  was  flustered,  and  gave  her  my  five  dollars  to  get 
rid  of  her.  If  she  had  been  a  man  I'd  have  knocked  her 
down." 

''Oh,  papa,"  said  Ida,  "I'll  tell  you  what  you  should 
have  done ;  you  should  have  called  me.  She'd  have  got  no 
money  and  no  subscriptions  out  of  me,  nor  you  either  if  I'd 
been  there." 

"Now,  Mr.  Henderson,  misery  loves  company;  has  she 
been  to  your  room  f  said  Mr.  Van  Arsdel. 

"I  confess  she  has,"  said  I,  "and  that  I  have  done  just 
what  you  did— yielded  at  once." 

"  Mr.  Henderson,  all  this  sort  of  proceeding  is  thoroughly 
vexations  and  disagreeable,"  said  Ida;  "and  all  the  more  so 
that  it  tends  directly  to  injure  all  women  who  are  trying  to 
be  self-supporting  and  independent.  It  destroys  that  deli- 
cacy and  refinement  of  feeling  which  men,  and  American 
men  especially,  cherish  toward  women,  and  will  make  the 
paths  of  self-support  terribly  hard  to  those  who  have  to 
tread  them.  There  really  is  not  the  slightest  reason  why  a 
woman  should  cease  to  be  a  woman  because  she  chooses  to 
be  independent  and  pursue  a  self-supporting  career.  And 
claiming  a  right  to  dispense  with  womanly  decorums  and 
act  like  a  man  is  just  as  ridiculous  as  it  would  be  for  a  man 
to  claim  the  right  to  wear  woman's  clothes.  Even  if  we 
supposed  that  society  were  so  altered  as  to  give  to  woman 


200  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

every  legal  and  every  social  right  that  man  has  ;  and  if  all 
the  customs  of  society  should  allow  her  to  do  the  utmost 
that  she  can  for  herself,  in  the  wajr  of  self-support,  still, 
women  will  be  relatively  weaker  than  men,  and  there  will 
be  the  same  propriety  in  their  being  treated  with  consider- 
ation and  delicacy  and  gentleness  that  there  now  is.  And 
the  assumptions  of  these  hoydens  and  bullies  has  a  tendency 
to  destroy  that  feeling  of  chivalry  and  delicacy  on  the  part 
of  men.  It  is  especially  annoying  and  galling  to  me,  be- 
cause I  do  propose  to  myself  a  path  different  from  that  in 
which  young  women  in  my  position  generally  have  walked  ; 
and  such  reasoners  as  Aunt  Maria  and  all  the  ladies  of  her 
circle  will  not  fail  to  confound  Miss  Audacia's  proceedings 
and  opinions,  and  mine,  as  all  belonging  to  the  same  class. 
As  to  the  opinions  of  the  paper,  it  is  mainly  by  the  half 
truths  that  are  in  it  that  it  does  mischief.  If  there  were  not 
real  evils  to  be  corrected,  and  real  mistakes  in  society,  this 
kind  of  thing  would  have  no  power.  As  it  is,  I  have  no 
doubt  that  it  will  acquire  a  certain  popularity  and  do  im- 
mense mischief.  I  think  the  elements  of  mischief  and 
confusion  in  our  republic  are  gathering  as  fast  as  they  did 
iti  Franco  before  the  revolution. 

"  And,"  said  I,  "  after  all,  republics  are  on  trial  before 
the  world.  Our  experiment  is  not  yet  two  hundred  years 
old,  and  we  have  all  sorts  of  clouds  and  storms  gatliei-in* — 
the  labor  question,  the  foreign  immigration  question,  the 
woman  question,  the  monopoly  and  corporation  questio.i, 
all  have  grave  aspects." 

"  You  see,  Mr.  Henderson,"  said  Ida,  "  as  to  this  woman 
question,  the  moderate  party  to  which  1  belong  is  just  at 
that  disadvantage  that  people  always  are  when  there  is  a 
party  on  ahead  of  them  who  hold  some  of  their  principles 
and  are  carrying  them  to  every  ridiculous  extreme.  They 
have  to  uphold  a  truth  that  is  constantly  being  brought  into 
disrepute  and  made  ridiculous  by  these  ultra  advocates. 
For  my  part,  all  I  can  do  is  to  go  quietly  on  with  what  I 


THE  WOMAN  QUESTION".  -JfJl 

knew  was  right  before.  What  is  right  is  right,  and  remains 
right  no  matter  how  much  ultraists  may  caricature  it." 

"Yes,  my  daughter,"  said  Mr.  Van  Arsdel,  "but  what 
would  become  of  our  country  if  all  the  women  could  vote, 
and  people  like  Miss  Audacia  Dangyereyes  should  stump 
the  country  as  candidates  for  election  T' 

"  Well,  I  am  sure,"  said  Ida,  "  we  should  have  very  disa- 
greeble  times,  and  a  great  deal  to  shock  us," 

"It  is  not  merely  that,"  said  Mr.  Van  Arsdel,  "the  influ- 
ence of  such  women  on  young  men  would  be  demoralizing." 

"  When  I  think  of  such  dangers,"  said  Ida,  "  I  am,  on  tho 
whole,  very  well  pleased  that  there  is  no  immediate  prospect 
of  the  suffrage  being  granted  to  women  until  a  generation 
with  superior  education  and  better  balanced  minds  and  bet- 
ter habits  of  consecutive  thought  shall  have  grown  up 
among  us.  I  think  the  gift  of  the  ballot  will  come  at  last  as 
the  result  of  a  superior  culture  and  education.  And  I  am 
in  no  hurry  for  it  before." 

"  What  is  all  this  that  you  are  talking  about?  said  Eva, 
who  came  into  the  room  just  at  this  moment.  "Ma  and 
Aunt  Maria  are  in  such  a  state  about  that  paper  that  Papa 
has  just  brought  home!  They  say  there  are  most  horrid 
things  in  it,  Mr.  Henderson  ;  and  they  say  that  it  belongs  to 
the  party  which  you,  and  Ida,  and  all  your  progressive  people 
are  in." 

"  It  is  au  excresence  of  the  party,"  said  I ;  "  a  diseased 
growth ;  and  neither  Miss  Ida  nor  I  will  accept  of  it  as  any 
expression  of  our  opinion,  though  it  does  hold  some  things 
which  we  believe." 

**  Well,"  said  Eva,  "  I  am  curious  to  see  it,  just  because 
they  don't  want  I  should.  What  can  there  be  in  it  so  very 
bad  ?" 

"  You  may  as  well  keep  out  of  it,  chick,"  said  her  father, 
crossing  her.  "And  now,  I'll  tell  you,  Ida,  just  what  I 
Think  ;  you  good  women  are  not  fit  to  govern  the  world, 
because  you  do  not  know,  and  you  oughtn't  to  know,  the 
wickedness  that  vou  have  got  to  govern.  We  men  have  to 


262  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

know  .ill  about  the  rogues,  and  the  sharpers,  and  the  pick- 
pockets, and  the  bullies ;  we  have  to  grow  hard  and  sharp, 
and  '  cut  our  eye-teeth,'  as  the  oaying  is,  so  that  at  last  we 
come  to  not  having  much  faith  in  anybody.  The  rule  is, 
pretty  much,  not  to  believe  anybody  that  you  meet,  and  to 
take  for  granted  that  every  man  that  you  have  dealings 
with  wiil  cheat  you  if  he  can.  That's  bad  enough,  but  when 
it  comes  to  feeling  that  every  woman  will  cheat  you  if  she 
can,  when  women  cat  their  eye-teeth,  and  get  to  be  sharp, 
and  hard,  and  tricky,  as  men  are,  then  I  say,  Look  out  for 
yourself,  and  deliver  me  from  having  anything  to  do  with 
them." 

"  Why,  really !"  said  Eva,  "  papa  is  getting  to  be  quite  an 
orator.  I  never  heard  him  talk  so  much  before.  Papa,  why 
don't  you  go  on  to  the  platform  at  the  next  Woman's  Eights 
Convention,  and  give  them  a  good  blast  ?" 

"Oh  I'll  let  them  alone,"  said  Mr.  Van  Arsdel;  "I  don't 
want  to  be  mixed  up  with  them,  and  I  don't  want  my 
girls  to  be,  either.  Now,  I  do  not  object  to  what  Ida  is 
doing,  and  going  to  do.  I  think  there  is  real  sense  in  that, 
although  Mother  and  Aunt  Maria  feel  so  dreadf  ally  about 
it.  1  like  to  see  a  woman  have  pluck,  and  set  herself  to  be 
good  for  something  in  the  world.  And  I  don't  see  why  there 
shouldn't  be  wom«n  doctors ;  it  is  just  the  thing  there  ought 
to  be.  But  I  don't  go  for  all  this  hurrah  and  hullaballoo, 
and  pitching  women  head-first  into  politics,  and  sending 
them  to  legislatures,  and  making  them  candidates  for  Con- 
gress, and  for  the  Presidency,  and  nobody  knows  what  else." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  why  not  a  woman  President,  as  well  as 
a  woman  Queen  of  England?" 

" Because,"  said  he,  "look  at  the  difference.  The  woman 
Queen  in  England  comes  to  it  quietly;  she  is  born  to  it,  and 
there  is  no  fuss  about  it.  But  whoever  is  set  up  to  be 
President  of  the  United  States  is  just  set  up  to  have  his 
character  torn  off  from  his  back  in  shreds,  and  to  be  mauled, 
pummeled,  and  covered  with  dirt  by  every  filthy  paper  all 
over  the  country.  And  no  woman  that  was  not  willing  to  be 


THE  WOMAN  QUESTION.  263 

draggled  through,  every  kennel,  and  slopped  into  every 
dirty  pail  of  water,  like  an  old  mop,  would  ever  consent 
to  run  as  a  candidate.  Why,  it's  an  ordeal  that  kills  a  man. 
It  killed  Gen.  Harrison,  and  killed  old  Zack.  And  what 
sort  of  a  brazen  tramp  of  a  woman  would  it  be  that  could 
stand  it,  and  come  out  of  it  without  being  killed?  Would 
it  be  any  kind  of  a  woman  that  we  should  want  to  see  at 
the  head  of  our  government  ?  I  tell  you,  it's  quite  another 
thing  to  be  President  of  a  democratic  republic,  from  what 
it  is  to  be  hereditary  Queen." 

"Good  for  you,  papa!"  said  Eva,  clapping  her  hands. 
"  Why  how  you  go  on !  I  never  did  hear  such  eloquence. 
No,  Ida,  set  your  mind  at  rest,  you  shan't  be  run  for  Presi- 
dent of  the  United  States.  You  are  a  great  deal  too  good 
for  that." 

"  Now,"  said  Mr.  Van  Arsdel,  "  there's  your  friend,  Mrs. 
Cerulean,  tackled  me  the  other  night,  and  made  a  convert 
of  me,  she  said.  Bless  me !  she's  a  handsome  woman,  and  I 
like  to  hear  her  talk.  And  if  we  didn't  live  in  the  world 
we  do,  and  things  weren't  in  any  respect  what  they  are, 
nothing  would  be  nicer  than  to  let  her  govern  the  world. 
But  in  the  great  rough  round  of  business  she's  nothing  but 
a  pretty  baby  after  all, — nothing  else  in  the  world.  "We  let 
such  women  con  vert  us,  because  we  like  to  have  them  around. 
It  amuses  us,  and  don't  hurt  them.  But  you  can't  let  your 
baby  play  with  matches  and  gunpowder,  if  it  wants  to  ever 
so  much.  Women  are  famous  for  setting  things  agoing  that 
they  don't  know  anything  about.  And  then,  when  the  ex- 
plosion conies,  they  don't  know  what  did  it,  and  run  scream- 
ing to  the  men.'? 

"  As  to  Mrs.  Cerulean,"  said  Eva,  "  I  never  saw  anybody 
that  had  such  a  perfectly  happy  opinion  of  herself,  as  she 
has.  She  always  thinks  that  she  understands  everything  by 
intuition.  I  believe  in  my  heart  that  she'd  walk  into  the 
engine-room  of  the  largest  steamship  that  ever  was  navi- 
gated, and  turn  out  the  chief  engineer  and  take  his  place. 


264  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

if  he'd  let  her.  She'd  navigate  by  woman's  God-given 
instincts,  as  she  calls  them." 

"And  so  she'd  keep  on  till  she'd  blown  up  the  ship,"  said 
Mr.  Van  Arsdel. 

"Well,"  said  I,  "one  fact  is  to  be  admitted,  that  men, 
having  always  governed  the  world,  must  by  this  lime  have 
acquired  a  good  deal  of  traditional  knowledge  of  the 
science  of  government,  and  of  human  nature,  which  women 
can't  learn  by  intuition  in  a  minute." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Ida,  "I  never  was  disposed  to  insist 
on  the  immediate  granting  of  political  rights  to  women.  I 
think  that  they  are  rights,  and  that  it  is  very  important  for 
the  good  of  society  that  these  rights  should  finally  be  re- 
spected. But  I  am  perfectly  willing,  for  my  part,  to  wait 
and  come  to  them  in  the  way,  and  at  the  tizne,  that  will  be 
best  for  the  general  good.  I  would  a  great  deal  rather  come 
to  them  by  gradual  evolution  than  by  destructive  revolu- 
tion. I  do  not  want  them  to  be  forced  upon  society,  when 
there  is  so  little  preparation  among  women  that  they  will  do 
themselves  no  credit  by  it.  All  history  shows  that  the 
most  natural  and  undeniable  human  rights  may  be  granted 
and  maintained  in  a  way  that  will  just  defeat  themselves, 
and  bring  discredit  on  all  the  supporters  of  them,  just  as 
was  the  case  with  the  principles  of  democratic  liberty  in 
the  first  French  Revolution.  I  do  not  want  the  political 
rights  of  woman  advocated  in  a  manner  that  will  create 
similar  disturbances,  and  bring  a  lasting  scandal  on  what 
really  is  the  truth.  I  do  not  want  Tvomen  to  have  the 
ballot  till  they  will  do  themselves  credit  and  improve 
society  by  it.  I  like  to  have  the  subject  proposed,  and 
argued,  and  agitated,  and  kept  up,  in  hopes  that  a  genera- 
tion of  women  will  be  educated  for  it.  And  I  think  it  is  a 
great  deal  better  and  safer,  where  it  can  be  done,  to  have 
people  educated  for  the  ballot,  than  to  have  them  educated 
by  the  ballot," 

"Well,  Ida,  there's  more  sense  in  you  than  in  the  most 
of  'em,"  said  Mr.  Van  Arsdel. 


THE  WOMAN  QUESTION.  265 

"Yes,"  said  Ida,  "I  think  that  an  immediate  rush  into 
politics  of  such  women  as  we  have  now,  without  exnerience 
or  knowledge  of  political  economy  of  affairs,  would  be,  as 
Eva  says,  just  like  women's  undertaking  to  manage  the 
machinery  of  a  largo  steamer  by  feminine  instincts.  I 
hope  never  to  see  women  in  public  life  till  we  have  had  a 
generation  of  women  who  have  some  practical  familiarity 
with  the  great  subjects  which  are  to  be  considered,  about 
which  now  the  best  instructed  women  know  comparatively 
nothing.  The  question  which  mainly  interests  me  at  present 
is  a  humanitarian  one.  It's  an  absolute  fact  that  a  great 
portion  of  womankind  have  their  own  living  to  get ;  and 
they  do  it  now,  as  a  general  rule,  with  many  of  the  laws  and 
institutions  of  society  against  them.  The  reason  of  this  is, 
that  all  these  laws  and  institutions  have  been  made  by 
men,  without  any  consent  or  concurrence  of  theirs.  Now, 
as  women  are  different  from  men,  and  have  altogether  a 
different  class  of  feelings  and  wants  and  necessities,  it 
certainly  is  right  and  proper  that  they  should  have  some 
share  in  making  the  laws  with  which  they  are  to  be  gov- 
erned. It  is  true  that  the  laws  have  been  made  by  fathers 
and  brothers  and  husbands;  but  no  man,  however,  near, 
ever  comprehends  fully  the  necessities  and  feelings  of 
women.  And  it  seems  to  me  that  a  State  where  all  the  laws 
are  made  by  men,  without  women,  is  just  like  a  family  that 
is  managed  entirely  by  fathers  and  brothers,  without  any 
'concurrence  of  mothers  and  sisters.  That's  my  testimony, 
and  my  view  of  the  matter." 

"I  don't  see,"  said  Eva',  -" if  -  women  are  to  make  the 
laws  in  relation  to  their  own  interests,  or  to  have  a  voice  in 
making  them,  why  they  need  go  into  politics  with  men  in 
order  to  do  it,  or  why  they  need  cease  to  act  like  women. 
If  the  thing  has  got  to  be  done,  I  would  have  a  parliament 
of  women  meet  by  themselves,  and  deliberate  and  have  a 
voice  in  all  that  concerns  the  State.  There,  that's  my  con- 
tribut.ion  to  the  programme." 

"  That's  the  way  the  Quakers  manage  their  affairs  in  their 


266  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

yearly  meetings,"  said  Ida.  "  I  remember  I  was  visiting 
Aunt  Dinah  once,  during  a  yearly  meeting,  and  learned  all 
about  it.  I  remember  the  sisters  had  a  voice  in  everything 
that  was  done.  The  Quaker  women  have  acquired  in  this 
way  a  great  deal  of  facility  in  the  management  of  business, 
and  a  great  knowledge  of  affairs.  They  really  seem  to  me 
superior  to  the  men.7' 

"  I  can  account  for  that,"  said  I.  "  A  man  among  the 
Quakers  is  restricted  and  held  in,  and  hasn't  as  much  to 
cultivate  and  develop  him  as  ordinary  men  in  the  world ; 
whereas,  woman,  among  the  Quakers,  has  her  sphere  wi- 
dened and  developed." 

At  this  moment  our  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the 
entrance  of  Jim  Fellows.  He  seemed  quite  out  of  breath 
and  excited,  and  had  no  sooner  passed  the  compliments  of 
the  evening,  than  he  began. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  Hal,  I  have  just  come  from  the  Police 
Court,  where  there's  a  precious  row.  Our  friend  Dacia 
Dangyereyes  is  up  for  blackmailing  and  swindling ;  and 
there's  a  terrible  wash  of  dirty  linen  going  on.  I  was  just 
in  time  to  get  the  very  earliest  notes  for  our  paper." 

"Good!"  said  Mr.  Van  Arsdel.  "I  hope  the  creature  is 
caught  at  last." 

"  Never  believe  that,"  said  Jim.  "  She  has  as  many  lives 
as  a  cat.  They  never'll  get  a  hold  on  her.  She'll  talk  'em 
all  round." 

"  Disgusting !"  said  Ida, 

"  Ah  !"  said  Jim,  "  it's  part  of  the  world  as  it  goes.  She'll 
come  off  with  flying  colors,  doubtless,  and  her  cock's  feath- 
ers will  be  flaunting  all  the  merrier  for  it." 

"  How  horribly  disagreeable,"  said  Eva,  "  to  have  such 
women  around.  It  makes  one  ashamed  of  one's  sex." 

*' I  think,"  said  Ida,  "there  is  not  sufficient  resemblance 
to  a  real  woman  in  her  to  make  much  trouble  on  her 
account.  She's  an  amphibious  animal,  belonging  to  a  trans- 
ition period  of  human  society." 

"  Well,"  said  Jim,  "  if  you'll  believe  it,  Mrs.  Cerulean 


THE  WOMAN  QUESTION.  267 

i 

and  two  or  three  of  the  ladies  of  her  set  are  actually  going 
to  invite  Dacia  to  their  salon,  and  patronize  her." 

"  Impossible  !"  said  Ida,  Hushing  crimson  ;  "itOMMtotbe!'1 

"Oh,  you  don't  know  Mrs.  Cerulean,"  said  Jim ;  "Dacia 
called  on  her  with  her  newspaper,  and  conducted  herself 
in  a  most  sweet  and  winning  manner,  and  cast  herself  at 
her  feet  for  patronage;  and  Mrs.  Cerulean,  regarding  her 
through  those  glory  spectacles  which  she  usually  wears, 
took  her  up  immediately  as  a  promising  candidate  for  the 
latter-day.  Mrs.  Cerulean  don't  see  anything  in  Dacia's 
paper  that,  properly  interpreted,  need  make  any  trouble ; 
because,  you  see,  as  she  says,  everything  ought  to  be  love, 
everywhere,  above  and  below,  under  and  over,  up  and  down, 
top  and  side  and  bottom,  ought  to  be  love,  LOVE.  And 
then  when  there's  general  all-overness  and  all-throughness, 
and  an  entire  mixed-up-ativeness,  then  the  infinite  will 
come  down  into  the  finite,  and  the  finite  will  overflow  into 
the  infinite,  and,  in  short,  Miss  Dacia's  cock's  feathers  will 
sail  right  straight  up  into  heaven,  and  we  shall  see  her  cheek 
by  jowl  with  the  angel  Gabriel,  promenading  the  streets  of 
the  new  Jerusalem.  That's  the  programme.  Meanwhile, 
Dacia's  delighted.  She  hadn't  the  remotest  idea  of  being 
an  angel,  or  anything  of  the  sort ;  but  since  good  judges 
have  told  her  she  is,  she  takes  it  all  very  contentedly." 

"Oh,"  said  Ida,  "it  really  can't  be  true,  Mr.  Fellows; 
it  really  is  impossible  that  such  ladies  as  Mrs.  Cerulean's  set 
— ladies  of  family  and  position,  ladies  of  real  dignity  and 
delicacy— are  going  to  indorse  the  principles  of  that  paper ; 
principles  which  go  to  the  immediate  dissolution  of  civilized 
society." 

"That's  just  what  they  are  doing,"  said  Jim;  "And 
they  are  having  a  glorious  high  old  time  doing  it  too.  Mrs. 
Cerulean  herself  intends  to  write  for  the  paper  on  the  sub- 
ject of  fortyfication  and  twentifi cation  and  unification,  and 
everything  else  that  ends  with  ation.  And  it  is  thought  ;t 
\vill  improve  the  paper  to  have  some  nice  little  hymra 
inserted  in  it,  to  the  tune  of  '  I  Want  to  be  an  Angel.'  I 


268  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

asked  Mrs.  Cerulean  what  if  my  friend  Dacia  should  rip 
an  oath  in  the  midst  of  one  of  her  salons— you  know  the 
little  wretch  does  swear  like  a  pirate  ;  and  you  cught  to  see 
how  serenely  she  looked  over  my  head  into  the  far  distant 
future,  and  answered  me  so  tenderly,  as  if  I  had  been  a  two 
hours'  chicken  peeping  to  her.  '  Oh,  James,'  says  she, '  there 
are  many  opinions  yet  to  be  expressed  on  the  subject  of 
what  is  commonly  called  profanity.  I  have  arrived  at  the 
conclusion  myself,  that  in  impassioned  natures,  what  is 
called  profanity,  is  only  the  state  of  prophetic  exaltation 
which  naturally  seeks  vent  in  intensified  language.  1 
shouldn't  think  the  worse  of  this  fine  vigorous  cieature 
if,  in  a  moment's  inspired  frenzy,  she  should  burst  the  tame 
boundaries  of  ordinary  language.  It  is  true,  the  vulgar 
might  call  it  profane.  It  requires  anointed  eyes  to  see  such 
things  truly.  When  we  have  risen  to  these  heights  where 
we  now  stand,  we  behold  all  things  purified.  There  is 
around  us  a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth.'  And  so  you  see, 
Dacia  Dangyereyes  turns  out  a  tip-top  angel  of  the  new 
dispensation." 

"  Well,"  said  Ida,  rising,  with  heightened  color,  "this,  of 
course,  ends  my  intercourse  with  Mrs.  Cerulean,  if  it  be 
true." 

"  But,"  said  Eva,  "  how  can  they  bear  the  scandal  of  this 
disgraceful  trial  1  This  certainly  will  open  their  eyes." 

"Oh,"  said  Jim,  "you  will  see,  Mrs.  Cerulean  will  adhere  all 
the  closer  for  this.  It's  persecution,  and  virtue  in  all  ages 
has  been  persecuted ;  therefore,  all  who  are  persecuted,  are 
virtuous.  Don't  you  see  the  logical  consistency  ?  And 
then,  don't  the  Bible  say,  '  Blessed  are  ye  when  men  perse- 
cute you,  and  say  all  manner  of  evil  against  you  ?'  " 

"  It  don't  appear  to  me,"  said  Ida,  "  that  she  can  so  far  go 
against  all  common  sense." 

"  Common  sense !"  said  Jim;  "  Mrs.  Cerulean  and  her  clique 
iave  long  since  risen  above  anything  like  common  sense ; 
all  their  sense  is  of  the  most  uncommon  kind,  and  relates 
to  a  region  somewhere  up  in  the  clouds,  where  everything 


THE  WOMAN  QUESTION.  269 

is  made  to  match.  They  live  in  an  imaginary  world,  and 
reason  with  imaginary  reasons,  and  see  people  through 
imaginary  spectacles,  and  have  glorious  good  times  all  the 
while.  All  I  wish  is,  that  I  could  get  up  there  and  live; 
for  you  see  I  get  into  the  state  of  prophetic  ecstasy  pretty 
often  with  this  confounded  hard  grind  below  here,  and  then, 
when  I  rip  out  a  naughty  word,  nobody  sees  the  beauty  of 
it.  Mother  looks  glum.  Sister  Nell  says,  'Oh,  Jim!'  and 
looks  despairing." 

"  But  the  fact  is,"  said  Mr.  Van  Arsdel,  "  Mrs.  Cerulean 
is  a  respectable  woman,  of  respectable  family,  and  this 
girl  is  a  tramp  ;  that's  what  she  is ;  and  it  is  absolutely 
impossible  that  Mrs.  Cerulean  can  know  what  she  is  about." 

"Well,  I  delicately  suggested  some  such  thing  to  Mrs. 
Cerulean,"  said  Jim;  "but,  bless  me!  the  way  she  set  me 
down  !  Says  she,  '  Do  you  men  ever  inquire  into  the  char- 
acter of  people  that  you  unite  with  to  carry  your  purposes  ? 
You  join  with  anybody  that  will  help  you,  without  regard 
to  antecedents !" 

" She  don't  speak  the  truth,"  said  Mr.  Van  Arsdel.  "We 
men  are  very  particular  about  the  record  of  those  we  join 
with  to  carry  our  purposes.  You  wouldn't  lind  a  board  of 
bankers  taking  a  man  that  had  a  record  for  swindling,  or  a 
man  that  edited  a  paper  arguing  against  all  rights  of  prop- 
erty. Doctors  won't  admit  a  inaii  among  them  who  has  the 
record  of  a  quack  or  a  mal practitioner.  Clergymen  won't 
admit  a  man  among  them  who  has  a  record  of  licentiousness 
or  infidel  sentiments.  And  if  women  will  admit  women,  in 
utter  disregard  to  their  record  of  chastity,  or  their  lax  prin- 
ciples as  to  the  family,  they  act  on  lower  principles  than 
any  body  of  men." 

"  Besides,"  said  I,  "  that  kind  of  tolerance  cuts  the  very 
ground  from  under  the  whole  woman  movement ;  for  the 
nriiu  argument  for  proposing  it,  was  to  introduce  into  poli- 
tics that  superior  delicacy  and  purity,  which  women  manifest 
in  family  life.  But  if  women  are  going  to  be  less  careful 
about  delicacy  and  decorum  and  family  purity  than  men 


270  M Y  WIFE  AND  1. 

are,  the  quagmire  of  politics,  foul  enough  now,  will  become 
putrid." 

"  Oh, come,"  said  Eva,  "the  subject  does  get  too  dreadful; 
I  can't  bear  to  think  of  it,  and  I  move  that  we  have  a  game 
of  whist,  and  put  an  end  to  it.  Come,  now,  do  let's  sit 
down  sociably,  and  have  something  agreeable." 

We  went  out  into  the  parlor  and  sat  down  to  the  whist- 
table,  Eva  and  Alice,  with  Jim  Fellows  and  myself  respect- 
ively as  partners,  and  indulged  ourselves  in  one  of  those 
agreeable  chatty  games  which  make  the  designation  "  whist" 
quite  an  amusing  satire — one  of  those  games  played  with 
that  charming  disregard  of  all  rules  which  is  so  inspiring. 
In  the  best  of  spirits  we  talked  across  the  table  to  each 
other,  trumped  our  partners'  queens,  and  did  all  sorts  of  enor- 
mities in  the  excitement  of  the  brilliant  by -play  of!  conver- 
sation which  we  kept  up  all  the  while.  It  may  be  a  familiar 
experience  to  many,  that  one  never  thinks  of  so  many  things 
to  say,  and  so  many  fruitful  topics  for  immediate  discussion, 
as  when  one  professes  to  be  playing  whist.  But  then,  if  a 
young  gentleman  wishe-s  a  good  opportunity  to  reconnoiter 
a  certain  face,  no  more  advantageous  position  can  be  given 
him  than  to  have  it  vis  a  vis  at  the  whist-table. 
"  Now,  Mr.  Henderson,"  said  Alice,  "  we  are  going  to  make 
a  good  churchman  of  you." 

"  I  am  happy  to  hear  it,"  said  I.  "  I  am  ready  to  be  made 
anything  good  of,  that  you  can  mention." 

"  Well,"  said  Alice,  "  we  are  going  to  press  you  and  Mr. 
Fellows,  here,  into  the  service  of  the  church." 

"  Shall  be  perfectly  enchanted !"  said  Jim.  "  If  the  church 
only  knew  my  energies,  they  would  have  tried  to  get  me 
long  before." 

"Then,"  said  Eva,  "you  must  go  with  us  to-morrow 
evening;  for  we  are  going  to  be  up  all  night,  about  the 
floral  decorations  of  our  church  for  Easter  morning.  Oh ! 
you  have  no  idea  what  splendid  things  we  are  going  to  do. 
We  shall  be  at  work  hard,  all  day  to-morrow,  upon  our 
wreaths  and  crosses;  and  the  things  must  all  be  put  up 


THE  WOMAN  QUESTION.  271 

late  at  night  so  as  to  keep  them  from  withering.  Then, 
you  know,  we  must  be  out  again  to  the  sunrise  service." 

"Why,"  said  I,  "it  is  a  regular  piece  of  dissipation." 

"  Certainly, — religious  dissipation,  you  know,"  said  Alice. 

"  Well,"  said  Eva,  "  I  don't  know  why  we  should  not  be  up 
all  night  to  dress  the  church,  for  once  in  our  lives,  as  well 
as  to  be  up  all  night  dancing  the  German.  Ida  says  ifc  is 
wicked  to  do  either.  Ida  makes  a  perfect  hobby  of  every- 
body's keeping  their  health." 

"  Yes,  but,"  said  I,  "  if  people  keep  themselves,  generally, 
in  temperance  and  soberness,  they  can  afford  a  great  strain, 
now  and  then,  if  it  be  for  a  good  purpose." 

"At  any  rate,"  said  Eva,  "you  and  Mr.  Fellows  come 
round  and  take  tea  with  us  and  help  us  carry  our  trophies 
to  the  church." 


272  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

COUSIN  CAROLINE  AGAIN. 

BOUT  this  time  I  received  the  following  letter 
from  my  Cousin  Caroline  : 

"Dear  Cousin:— I  have  had  no  time  to  keep  up 
correspondence  with  anybody  for  the  past  year.  The  state 
of  my  father's  health  has  required  my  constant  attention, 
day  and  night,  to  a  degree  that  has  absorbed  all  my  power, 
and  left  no  time  for  writing.  For  the  last  six  months  father 
has  been  perfectly  helpless  with  the  most  distressing  form 
of  chronic  rheumatism.  His  sufferings  have  been  protracted 
and  intense,  so  that  it  has  been  wearing  even  to  witness 
them ;  and  the  utmost  that  I  could  do  seemed  to  bring  very 
little  relief.  And  when,  at  last,  death  closed  the  scene,  it 
seemed  to  be  in  mercy,  putting  an  end  to  sufferings  which 
were  intolerable. 

"  For  a  month  after  his  death,  I  was  in  a  state  of  utter 
prostration,  both  physical  and  mental, — worn  out  with 
watching  and  care.  My  poor  father;  he  was  himself  to 
the  last,  reticent,  silent,  undemonstrative  and  uncommu- 
nicative. It  seemed  to  me  that  I  would  have  given  worlds 
for  one  tender  word  from  him.  I  felt  a  pity  and  a  love 
that  I  dared  not  show  ;  his  sufferings  went  to  my  very 
heart ;  but  he  repelled  every  word  of  sympathy,  and  was 
cold  and  silent  to  the  last.  Yet  I  believe  that  he  really 
loved  me  and  that  far  within  this  frozen  circle  of  ice,  his 
soul  was  a  lonely  prisoner,  longing  to  express  itself,  and 
anable ;  longing  for  the  light  and  warmth  of  that  love 
which  never  could  touch  him  in  its  icy  depths ;  and  I  am 
quite  sure,  it  is  my  comfort  to  know,  that  death  has  broken 


COUSIN  CAROLINE  AGAIN.  273 

the  ice  and  melted  the  bands;  and  I  believe  that  he  has 
entered  the  kingdom  of  heaven  as  a  little  child. 

"The  hard  skies  of  our  New  England,  its  rocky  soil,  its 
severe  necessities,  make  characters  like  his  ;  and  they 
intrench  themselves  in  a  similar  religious  faith  which  makes 
them  still  harder.  They  live  to  aspire  and  to  suffer,  but 
never  to  express  themselves  ;  and  every  soft  and  warm 
heart  that  is  connected  with  them  pines  and  suffers  and  dies 
like  flowers  that  are  thrown  upon  icebergs. 

"Well,  all  is  now  over,  and  I  am  free  of  the  world.  I 
have,  in  the  division  6f  the  property,  a  few  acres  of  wood- 
lot,  and  many  acres  of  rough,  stony  laud,  and  about  a  hun- 
tlrv'd  dollars  of  yearly  income.  I  must  do  something,  there- 
fore, for  my  own  support.  Ever  since  you  left  us  I  have 
been  reading  and  studying  under  the  care  of  your  uncle, 
who,  since  your  conversation  with  him,  has  been  very  kind 
and  thoughtful.  But  then,  of  course,  my  studies  have  been 
interrupted  by  some  duties,  and,  during  the  last  year,  sus- 
pended altogether  by  the  necessity  of  giving  myself  to 
the  care  of  father. 

"  Now,  my  desire  is,  if  I  could  in  any  way  earn  the  means, 
to  go  to  France  and  perfect  myself  in  medical  studies.  I 
am  told  that  a  medical  education  can  be  obtained  there  by 
women  cheaper  than  anywhere  else  ;  and  I  have  cast  about 
in  my  own  mind  how  I  might  earn  money  enough  to 
enable  me  to  do  it.  Now  I  ask  you,  who  arc  in  New 
York  and  on  the  press,  who  know  me  thoroughly,  and 
it  also,  could  I,  should  I  come  to  New  York,  gain  any 
situation  as  writer  for  the  press,  which  would  give  me 
an  income  for  a  year  or  two,  by  which  I  could  make  enough 
to  accomplish  nay  purpose  ?  I  should  not  wish  to  be  always 
u  writer ;  it  would  be  too  exhausting ;  but  if  I  could  get 
into  a  profession  that  I  am  well  adapted  for,  1  should  expect 
to  succeed  in  it. 

"1  have  the  ability  to  live  and  make  a  respectable  appear- 
ance upon  a  very  little.  I  know  enough,  practically,  of 
the  arts  of  woman-craft  to  clothe  myself  handsomely 


274  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

for  a  small  sum,  and  I  am  willing  to  live  in  cheap 
obscure  lodgings,  and  think  I  could  board  myself,  also,  for  a 
very  moderate  sum.  I  am  willing  to  undergo  privations, 
and  to  encounter  hard  work  to  carry  my  purpose,  and  I 
write  to  you,  dear  cousin,  because  I  know  you  will  speak 
to  me  just  as  freely  as  though  I  were  not  a  woman,  and 
give  me  your  unbiased  opinion  as  to  whether  or  no  I  could 
do  anything  in  the  line  that  I  indicate.  I  know  that  you 
would  give  me  all  the  assistance  in  your  power,  and  feel 
a  perfect  reliance  upon  your  friendship." 

The  letter  here  digressed  into  local  details  and  family 
incidents  not  necessary  to  be  reproduced.  I  resolved  to  lay 
it  before  Bolton.  It  seemed  to  me  that  his  reception  of  it 
would  furnish  some  sort  of  clew  to  the  mystery  of  his 
former  acqaintance  with  her.  The  entire  silence  that  he 
had  always  maintained  with  regard  to  his  former  knowledge 
of  her,  while  yet  he  secretly  treasured  her  picture, 
seemed  to  me  to  indicate  that  he  might  somehow  have  been 
connected  with  that  passage  of  her  life  referred  to  by  my 
mother  when  she  said  that  Caroline's  father  had,  at  one 

period  of  her  life,  crushed  out  an  interest  that  was  vital  to 
her. 

"The  sly  old  fox,"  said  I  to  myself,  "always  draws  me 
on  to  tell  him  everything,  while  he  keeps  a  close  mouth, 
and  I  learn  nothing  of  him."  Of  course,  I  felt  that  to  ask 
any  questions  or  seek  to  pry  into  a  past  which  he  evidently 
was  not  disposed  to  talk  about,  would  be  an  indelicate  imper- 
tinence. But  my  conscience  and  sense  of  honor  were  quite 
appeased  by  this  opportunity  presented  by  Caroline's  letter. 
Bolton  was  older  in  the  press  than  I,  and,  with  all  his 
reticence  and  modesty,  had  a  wide  circle  of  influence.  He 
seemed  contented  to  seek  nothing  fcr  himself;  but  I  had 
had  occasion  to  notice  in  my  own  experience  that  he  was 
not  boasting  idly  when  he  said,  on  our  first  acquaintance, 
that  he  had  some  influence  in  literary  quarters.  He  had 
already  procured  for  me,  from  an  influential  magazine, 
propositions  for  articles  which  were  both  flattering  to 


ffiffl 


;•    'i>*M    i 


BOLTON'S  ASYLUM. 

"•  Halloo, Bolton !"  said  I.    "  Hare  J/OM  got  a  foundling  hospital  here  f" 


COUSIN  CAROLINE  AGAIN.  275 

my  pride  and  lucrative  in  the  remuneration.  In  this  way, 
the  prospect  of  my  yearly  income,  which  on  the  part  of 
the  Great  Democracy  was  so  very  inadequate,  was  enlarged 
to  a  very  respectable  figure. 

I  resolved,  therefore,  to  go  up  to  Bolton's  room  and  put 
this  letter  into  his  hands.  I  knocked  at  the  door,  but  no  one 
answering  I  opened  it  and  went  in.  He  was  not  there,  but 
an  odd  enough  scene  presented  itself  to  me.  The  little 
tow-headed,  freckled  boy,  that  I  had  formerly  remarked  as 
an  inmate  of  the  apartment,  was  seated  by  the  fire  with  a 
girl,  somewhat  younger  than  himself,  nursing  between 
them  a  large  fat  bundle  of  a  baby. 

"  Hallo,"  said  I,  "  what  have  we  here  ?  What  are  you 
doing  here  ?"  At  this  moment — before  the  children  could 
answer — I  heard  Bolton  coming  up  the  stairs.  He  entered 
the  room  ;  a  bright  color  mounted  to  his  cheeks  as  he  saw 
the-  group  by  the  fire,  and  me. 

"  Hallo,  Hal  !7'  he  said,  with  a  sort  of  conscious  laugh. 

"Hallo,  Bolton!"  said  I.  "Have  you  gQt  a  foundling 
hospital  here?" 

"Oh,  well,  well,"  said  he;  "never  mind;  let  'em  stay 
there.  Do  you  want  anything?  There,"  said  he,  pulling 
a  package  of  buns  out  of  his  pocket,  "  eat  those ;  and  when 
the  baby  gets  asleep  you  can  lay  her  on  the  bed  in  the 
other  room.  And  there," — to  the  boy, — "  you  read  this  story 
aloud  to  your  sister  when  the  baby  is  asleep.  And  now, 
Hal,  what  can  I  do  for  you?  Suppose  I  come  down  into 
your  room  for  awhile  and  talk  ?" 

He  took  my  arm,  and  we  went  down  the  stairs  together; 
and  when  we  got  into  my  room,  he  shut  the  door  and  said : 

"  The  fact  is  Hal,  I  have  to  take  care  of  that  family— 
my  washerwoman,  you  know.  Poor  Mrs.  Molloy,  she  has  a 
husband  that  about  once  a  month  makes  a  perfect  devil 
of  himself,  so  that  the  children  are  obliged  to  run  and  hide 
for  fear  of  their  lives.  And  then  she  has  got  the  way  of 
sending  them  to  me,  and  I  have  to  go  down  and  attend  to 
him." 


276  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

"Bless  me!"  said  I,  "why  will  women  live  with  such 
brutes  ?  Why  don't  you  make  her  separate  from  him  "?" 

Bolton  seated  himself  at  my  table,  and  leaned  back  in 
his  chair,  with  a  curious  expression  of  countenance,  very 
sad,  yet  not  without  a  touch  of  humor  in  it. 

"  Well,  you  see,"  he  said,  "the  fact  is,  Hal,  she  loves  him.' 

"  Well,  she  oughtn't  to  love  him,"  said  I. 

"  May  be  not ;  but  she  does,"  said  he.  "  She  loves  that 
poor  Pat  Molloy  so  much  that  to  be  angry  with  him  is 
just  like  your  right  hand  being  angry  with  your  left  hand. 
Suppose  there's  a  great  boil  on  the  left  hand,  what's  the 
right  to  do  about  it  but  simply  bear  the  suffering  and  wait 
for  it  to  get  well?  That,  you  see,  is  love;  and  because 
of  it,  you  can't  get  women  away  from  their  husbands.  What 
are  you  going  to  do  about  it  f ' 

"  Bufc,"  said  I?  "  it  is  perfectly  absurd  for  a  woman  to 
cling  to  such  a  man." 

"Well,"  said  Bolton,  "three  weeks  of  the  month  Pat 
Molloy  is  just  as  kind  and  tender  a  father  and  husband 
as  you  will  find,  and  then  by  the  fourth  week  comes  around 
his  drunken  spell,  and  he'fl  a  devil.  Now  she  says,  'Sure 
sir,  it's  the  drink.  It's  not  Pat  at  all  sir ;  he's  not  himself 
sir.'  And  she  waits  till  it's  over— taking  care  that  he 
doesn't  kill  the  children.  Now,  shall  I  persude  her  to  let 
him  go  to  the  devil  ?  Does  not  Jesus  Christ  say,  '  Gather 
up  the  fragments  that  nothing  be  lost'  ?  He  said  it  about 
a  basket  of  bread;  wouldn't  he  say  it  still  more  about 
the  fragments  of  the  human  soul  *?  If  she  leaves  Pat, 
where  will  he  go  to  ?  First,  to  some  harlot,  then  to  murder, 
and  the  gallows — and  that  gets  him  out  of  the  way." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  isn't  he  better  out  than  in  f 

"  Who  knows  f  said  Bolton.  "All  1  have  to  say  is,  that 
poor  Molly  Molloy,  with  her  broad  Irish  brogue,  and  her 
love  that  can't  be  tired,  and  can't  give  him  up,  and  that 
bears,  and  believes,  and  hopes,  and  endures,  seems  to  me 
a  revelation  of  the  Christ-like  spirit  a  thousand  times  more 
than  if  she  was  tramping  to  a  woman's  rights  convention 


COUSIN  CAROLINE  AGAIN.  277 

and  exposing  her  wrongs  and  calling  down  j  ustice  on  his 
head." 

"But,'1  said  I,  "look  at  the  children!  Oughtn't  she  to 
part  with  him  on  their  account?" 

'  Yes,  look  at  the  children,"  said  he.  "  The  little  things 
have  learned  already,  from  their  mother,  to  care  for  each 
other,  and  to  care  for  their  father.  In  their  little  childish 
way,  they  love  and  bear  with  him  just  as  she  does.  The 
boy  came  to  me  this  afternoon  and  said,  '  Father's  got  an- 
other crazy  spell.'  Already  he  has  a  delicacy  in  his  very 
mode  of  speaking ;  and  he  doesn't  say  his  father  is  drunk, 
but  that  he  is  crazy,  as  he  is.  And  then  he  and  the  little 
girl  are  so  fatherly  and  motherly  with  the  baby.  Now,  I 
say,  all  this  growth  of  virtue  around  sin  and  sorrow  is 
something  to  be  revered.  The  fact  is" — he  added— 

"The  day  for  separating  the  tares  from  the  wheat 
hasn't  come  yet.  And  it  seems  to  me  that  the  moral  dis- 
cipline of  bearing  with  evil,  patiently,  is  a  great  deal  bet- 
tei  and  more  ennobling  than  the  most  vigorous  assertion  of 
one's  personal  rights.  I  can  see  a  great  deal  of  suffering  in 
that  family  from  poor  Pat's  weakness  and  wickedness,  but  I 
also  sec  most  noble  virtues  growing  up,  even  in  these  chil- 
dren, from  the  straits  to  which  they  are  put.  And  as  to 
poor  Pat  himself,  he  comes  out  of  his  demon-baptism  peni- 
tent and  humble,  and  more  anxious  to  please  than  ever.  It 
is  really  affecting  to  see  with  what  zeal  he  serves  me,  when 
I  have  brought  him  through  a  'drunk.'  And  yet  1  know 
that  it  will  have  to  be  gone  over,  and  over,  and  over  again. 
Sometimes  it  seems  to  me  he  is  like  the  earth  after  a  thun- 
der-shower—fresher and  clearer  than  he  was  before.  And 
I  am  quite  of  Mrs.  Molloy's  mind— there  is  too  much  good 
in  Pat  to  have  him  swept  off  into  the  gutter  for  the  bad ; 
and  so,  as  God  gives  her  grace  to  suffer,  let  her  suffer. 
And  if  I  can  bear  one  little  end  of  her  cross,  I  will.  If 
she  does  not  save  Mm  in  this  life,  she'll  save  him  from 
sinking  lower  in  demonisin.  She  may  only  keep  his  head 
above  water  till  ho  gets  past  the  gates  of  death,  and  then, 


278  JMT  WIFE  AND  I. 

perhaps,  in  the  next  life,  he  will  appear  to  be  saved  by 
just  that  much  which  she  has  done  in  keeping  him  up." 

Boiton  spoke  with  an  intense  earnestness,  and  a  sad  and 
solemn  tone,  as  if  he  were  shaken  and  almost  convulsed  by 
some  deep,  internal  feeling.  For  some  moments  there  was 
a  silence  between  us, — the  silence  of  a  great  unuttered  erao- 
tion.  At  last,  he  drew  a  long  breath,  and  said,  '*  Well,  Hal, 
what  was  it  you  wanted  to  talk  about  ?" 

*'  Oh,'1  said  I,  "  I  have  a  letter  from  a  friend  of  mine  that 
1  wanted  to  show  you,  to  see  whether  you  could  do  any- 
thing' —and  I  gave  him  Caroline's  letter. 

He  sat  down  under  the  gas-light  to  read  it.  The  sight  of 
the  hand- writing  seemed  to  affect  him  at  once.  His  large, 
dark  eyes  flashed  over  the  letter,  and  he  turned  it  quickly, 
and  looked  at  the  signature ;  a  most  unutterable  expression 
passed  over  his  face,  like  that  of  a  man  who  is  in  danger 
of  giving  away  to  some  violent  emotion ;  and  then,  appa- 
rently by  a  great  effort  of  self-constraint,  he  set  himself 
carefully  to  reading  the  letter.  He  read  it  over  two  or  three 
times,  folded  it  up,  and  handed  it  back  to  me  without  any 
remark,  and  then  sat  leaning  forward  on  the  table  with  his 
face  shaded  with  his  hand. 

"  My  cousin  is  a  most  uncommon  character,"  I  said ;  "  and, 
as  you  will  observe  by  this  letter,  has  a  good  deal  of  ability 
as  a  writer.7' 

'  I  am  acquainted  with  her,"  he  said,  briefly,  making  a 
sudden  movement  with  his  hand. 

"  Indeed  ?    Where  did  you  know  her  f ' 

"  Years  ago,''  he  said,  briefly.  "  I  taught  the  academy 
in  her  village,  and  she  was  one  of  my  scholars.  I  know 
the  character  of  her  mind." 

There  was  a  dry  brevity  in  all  this,  of  a  man  who  is 
afraid  that  he  shall  express  more  than  he  means  to. 

Said  I,  "I  showed  this  letter  to  you  because  I  thought 
you  had  more  influence  in  the  press  than  I  have ;  and  if  you 
are  acquainted  with  her,  so  much  the  better,  as  you  can 
judge  whether  she  can  gain  any  employment  here  which 


COUSIN  CAROLINE  AGAIN.  279 

would  make  it  worth  li<-r  while  to  come  and  try.  I  have 
always  had  an  impression  that  she  had  very  fine  mental 
powers/' 

"  There  is  no  doubt  about  that,"  he  said,  hurriedly.  "  She 
is  an  exceptional  woman/7 

He  rose  up,  and  took  the  letter  from  me.  "  If  you  will 
allow  me  to  retain  this  a  while,"  he  said,  "  I  will  see  what 
I  can  do;  but  just  now  I  have  some  writing  io  finish.  I 
will  speak  to  you  about  it  to-morrow/' 

That  evening,  I  introduced  the  subject  to  my  friend, 
Ida  Van  Arsdel,  and  gave  her  a  sketch  of  Caroline's  life- 
history.  She  entered  into  it  with  the  warmest  interest, 
and  was  enthusiastic  in  her  desire  that  the  plan  might  suc- 
crrd. 

"  I  hope  that  she  will  come  to  New  York,"  she  said,  "  so 
that  we  can  make  her  acquaintance.  Don't,  pray,  fail  to  let 
me  know,  Mr.  Henderson,  if  she  should  be  here,  that  I  may 
call  on  her." 


280  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

EASTER  LILIES. 

|  HE  next  afternoon  Jim  and  I  kept  our  appointment 
with  the  Van  Arsdel's.  We  found  one  of  the  par- 
lors transformed  to  a  perfect  bower  of  floral  deco- 
rations. Stars  and  wreaths  and  crosses  and  crowns  were 
either  just  finished  or  in  process  of  rapid  construction  under 
fairy  fingers.  When  I  came  in,  Eva  and  Alice  were  busy  on 
a  gigantic  cross,  to  be  made  entirely  of  lilies  of  the  valley, 
of  which  some  bushels  were  lying  around  on  the  carpet. 
Ida  had  joined  the  service,  and  was  kneeling  on  the  floor 
tying  up  the  flowers  in  bunches  to  offer  them  to  Eva. 

"  You  see,  Mr.  Henderson,  the  difference  between  mod- 
ern religion  and  the  primith  e  Christians,"  she  said.  "  Their 
cross  was  rough  wood  and  hard  nails ;  ours  is  lilies  and 
roses  made  up  in  fashionable  drawing-rooms." 

"  I'm  afraid,"  said  Eva,  "  our  crown  may  prove  much  of 
the  same  material !" 

"  I  sometimes  wonder,"  said  Ida,  "whether  all  the  money 
spent  for  flowers  at  Easter  could  not  better  be  spent  in 
some  mode  of  relieving  the  poor." 

"  Well,"  said  Eva,  "  I  am  sorry  to  bring  up  such  a  parallel, 
but  isn't  that  just  the  same  kind  of  remark  that  Judas  made 
about  the  alabaster  vase  of  ointment  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  I;  "what  could  be  more  apparently  useless 
than  a  mere  perfume,  losing  itself  in  the  air,  and  vanishing 
entirely  ?  And  yet  the  Saviour  justified  that  lavish  expendi- 
ture when  it  was  the  expression  of  a  heart-feeling." 

"But,"  said  Ida,  "don't  you  think  it  very  difficult  to 
mark  the  line  where  these  services  and  offerings  to  relig- 
ious worship  become  excessive?" 


EASTER  LILIES.  281 

"Of  course  it  is,"  said  I;  "but  no  more  difficult  on  this 
subject  than  any  other." 

"  That's  the  great  trouble  in  this  life,"  said  Eva.  "  The 
line  between  right  and  wrong  seems  always  so  indefinite, 
like  the  line  between  any  two  colors  of  the  prism— it  is 
hard  to  say  just  where  one  ends  and  another  begins." 

"  It  is  the  office  of  common  sense,"  I  said,  "  to  get  the 
exact  right  in  all  such  matters— there  is  a  sort  of  instinct 
in  it." 

"  Well,  all  I  have  to  say  about  it  is,"  said  Eva,  "  since 
we  do  spend  lavishly  and  Avithout  stint  in  our  houses  and 
in  our  dress  for  adornment,  we  ought  to  do  at  least  as 
much  for  our  religion.  I  like  to  see  the  adornment  of  a 
church  generous,  overflowing,  as  if  we  gave  our  very  best. 
As  to  these  lilies,  I  ordered  them  of  an  honest  gardener,  and 
it  goes  to  help  support  a  family  that  would  be  poor  if  it  were 
not  for  these  flowers.  It  is  better  to  support  one  or  two 
families  honestly,  by  buying  their  flowers  for  churches 
than  it  is  to  give  the  money  away.  So  I  look  on  it." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Alice,  "  there  is  no  end  to  anything. 
Everything  you  do  tends  to  something  else ;  and  everything 
leads  to  something ;  and  there  is  never  any  knowing  about 
anything ;  and  so  I  think  it  is  best  just  to  have  as  good  a 
time  as  you  can,  and  do  everything  that  is  agreeable,  and 
make  everything  just  as  pretty  as  it  can  be.  And  I  think  it 
is  fun  ta  trim  up  the  church  for  Easter.  There  now  !  And 
it  don't  do  any  harm.  And  I  j  ust  like  to  go  to  the  sunrise 
service,  if  it  docs  make  one  sleepy  all  day.  What  do  you 
say,  Mr.  Fellows'?  Do  you  think  you  could  go  through 
with  the  whole  of  it?" 

"Miss  Alice,  if  you  only  go  you  will  find  me  inspired 
with  the  spirit  of  a  primitive  Christian  in  this  respect," 
said  Jim.  "  I  shall  follow  wherever  you  lead  the  way,  if  it's 
ever  so  late  at  night,  or  ever  so  early  in  the  morning." 

'•  And  Mr.  Henderson,"  said  she,  "  may  we  depend  on  you, 
too?" 

"  By  all  means,"  said  I,  as  I  sat  industriously  gathering  up 
the  lilies  into  bunches  and  tying  them. 


282  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

"  Mr.  Henderson  is  in  a  hopeful  way,"  said  Eva.  "  I  think 
we  may  have  him  in  the  true  church  some  of  these  times." 

"I  am  afraid,"  said  Ida,  "that  Mr.  Henderson,  having 
seen  you  only  in  Lent,  won't  be  able  to  keep  track  of  you 
when  the  Easter  rejoicings  begin,  and  the  parties  recom- 
mence." 

"  Oh  dear  me !"  said  Eva,  with  a  sort  of  shudder,  "  To 
think  of  that  horrid  wedding!" 

"  That's  just  like  Eva,"  said  Alice.  "  She's  been,  and  been, 
and  been  to  these  things  till  she's  tired  out  with  them; 
whereas,  I  am  just  come  out,  and  I  like  them,  and  want 
more  of  them.  I  don't  think  they  are  horrid  at  all.  I  am 
perfectly  delighted  about  that  Elmore  wedding.  One  will 
see  there  all  the  new  things,  and  all  the  stunning  things, 
and  all  the  latest  devices  from  Paris.  I  was  in  at  Tullegig's 
the  other  day,  and  you  never  saw  such  a  sight  as  her  rooms 
are!  Somebody  said  it  looked  as  if  rainbows  had  been 
broken  to  pieces  and  thrown  all  round.  She  showed  me  all 
the  different  costumes  that  she  was  making  up  for  the  vari- 
ous parties.  You  know  there  are  to  be  seven  bride's- 
niaids,  and  each  of  them  is  to  wear  a  different  color.  Mad- 
ame thinks  'C'cst  si  gentilJ  Then,  you  know,  they  are 
making  such  grand  preparations  up  at  that  chateau  of 
theirs.  The  whole  garden  is  to  be  roofed  in  and  made  a 
ball  room  of.  I  think  it  will  be  gorgeous.  I  say,  Mr.  Fel- 
lows, if  you  and  Mr.  Henderson  would  like  it,  I  know  I 
could  manage  cards  for  you." 

Jim  assented,  heartily,  for  both  of  us ;  and  I  added  that 
I  should  like  to  see  the  affair ;  for  I  had  never  seen  enough 
of  that  sort  of  thing  to  take  away  the  novelty. 

After  tea  we  all  sallied  out  to  the  church  with  our 
trophies.  We  went  in  two  carriages,  for  the  better  accom- 
modation of  these,  and  had  a  busy  time  disembarking  at 
the  church  and  carrying  them  in.  Here  we  met  a  large 
committee  of  co-workers,  and  the  scene  of  real  business 
commenced.  Jim  and  I  worked  heroically  under  the  direc- 
tion of  our  fair  superintendents.  By  midnight  the  church 
was  a  bower  of  fragrance  and  beauty.  The  chancel  seemed 


EASTER  LILIES.  28$ 

a  perfect  bed  of  lilies,  out  of  which  rose  the  great  white 
cross,  shedding  perfume  upon  the  air.  The  baptismal  font 
was  covered  with  a  closely  woven  mcsaic  of  fragrant  vio- 
lets, and  in  each  panel  appeared  an  alternate  red  or  white 
cross  formed  of  llowcrs.  The  font  was  filled  with  a  tali 
bouquet  ol'  while  sain t's-lilies,  such  as  gardeners  force  for 
Easter. 

Kvu  and  I  Avorked  side  by  side  this  evening,  and  never 
had  I  seemed  to  know  her  more  intimately.  The  fact  is, 
among  other  dangerous  situations  to  a  young  man's  heart, 
none  may  be  mentioned  more  seductive  than  to  be  in  a 
church  twining  flowers  and  sorting  crosses  and  emblems  in 
the  still  holy  hours  of  the  night.  One's  head  gets,  some- 
ho\v,  bewildered  ;  all  worldly  boundaries  of  cold  prudence 
fade  away  ;  and  one  seems  to  be  lifted  up  to  some  other 
kind  of  land  where  those  that  are  congenial  never  part 
from  each  other.  So  I  felt  when,  our  work  being  all  done, 
L  retired  with  Eva  to  the  shadow  of  a  distant  pew  to  sur- 
vey the  whole  result.  We  had  turned  on  the  gas-light  to 
show  our  work,  and  its  beams,  falling  on  thousands  of 
these  white  lily-bells  and  on  all  the  sacred  emblems,  shed 
a  sort  of  chastened  light.  Again,  somehow,  as  if  it  had 
been  a  rose-leaf  floating  down  from  heaven,  I  found  that 
little  hand  in  mine ;  and  we  spoke  low  to  each  other,  in 
whispers,  of  how  good  and  how  pleasant  it  was  to  be  there, 
and  to  unite  in  such  service  and  work — words  that  meant 
far  more  than  they  seemed  to  say.  Once,  in  the  course  of 
the  evening,  I  saw  her  little  glove  where  it  had  fallen  into 
a  nest  of  cast-off  flowers,  and,  as  no  one  was  looking,  I 
seized  upon  it  as  a  relic,  and  appropriated  it  to  my  own 
sacred  memories.  Nor  would  I  surrender  it,  though  after- 
war;l  I  heard  her  making  pathetic  inquiries  for  it.  Late 
at  night  I  went  home  to  think  and  dream,  and  woke  with 
the  first  dim  gray  of  morning,  thinking  of  my  appointment 
to  meet  her  at  the  church. 

It  is  a  charming  thing  to  go  out  in  the  fresh  calm  morn- 
ing before  any  one  is  stirring.  The  bells  for  early  service 
were  dropping  their  notes  here  and  there,  down  through  the 


284  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

air,  as  if  angels  were  calling  men  to  awake  and  remember 
that  great  event  which  happened  so  silently  and  so  unre- 
garded, many,  many  years  ago.  I  thought  as  I  walked 
through  the  dim  streets  and  saw  here  and  there  an  early 
worshiper,  prayer-book  in  hand,  stealing  along,  of  the 
lonely  women  who,  years  ago,  in  Jerusalem,  sought  the 
sepulchre  to  see  where  they  had  laid  Him. 

Little  twittering  sparrows  rilled  the  ivy  on  the  outside  of 
the  church  and  made  it  vibrate  with  their  chirpings.  There 
was  the  promise  in  the  brightening  skies  of  a  glorious  sun- 
rise. I  stood  waiting  awhile,  quite  alone,  till  one  by  one 
the  bands  of  youths  and  maidens  came  from  different  direc- 
tions. 

I  had  called  Jim  as  I  went  out,  but  he,  preferring  to  take 
the  utmost  latitude  for  sleep,  looked  at  his  watch  and  told 
me  he  would  take  another  half  hour  before  he  joined  us. 

Eva  was  there,  however,  among  the  very  first.  The  girls, 
she  said,  were  coming.  We  went  into  the  dim  church  to- 
gether and  sat  ourselves  down  in  the  shady  solitude  of  one 
of  the  slips  waiting  for  the  morning  light  to  pour  through 
the  painted  windows.  We  said  nothing  to  each  other ;  but 
the  silence  was  sociable  and  not  blank.  There  are  times 
in  life  when  silence  between  two  friends  is  better  than 
speech  ;  for  they  know  each  other  by  intuition. 

Gradually  the  church  filled  with  worshipers ;  and  as  the 
rising  sun  streamed  through  the  painted  windows  and 
touched  all  the  lilies  with  brightness,  a  choir  of  children  in 
the  organ-loft  broke  forth  into  carols  like  so  many  invisible 
birds.  And  then,  the  old  chant, 

"  Christ,  being  raised  from  the  dead,  dieth  no  more," 
seemed  to  thrill  every  heart. 

After  the  service  came  a  general  shaking  of  hands  and 
greetings  from  neighbors  and  friends,  as  everybody  walked 
round  examining  the  decorations. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Henderson,"  said  Eva,  as  she  stood  with  mo 
surveying  this  scene,  "  is  not  a  church  which  preserves  all 
these  historical  memorials  a  most  lovely  one  ?  Ought  wo 
not  thus  to  cherish  the  memory  of  that  greatest  event  that 


EASTER  LILIES.  285 

ever  happened  in  this  world  ?  And  how  beautiful  it  is  to 
bring  up  children  year  after  year  by  festivals  like  these,  to 
mark  off  their  life  in  acts  of  remembrance." 

"You  speak  truly,"  I  said,  sharing  her  enthusiasm.  "I 
could  wish  the  church  of  all  good  people  had  never  ceased  to 
keep  Kasu-r  ;  indeed,  they  who  do  disregard  it  seem  to  me 
a  cold  minority  out  of  the  great  fellowship.  I  think  it  is 
fortunate  that  the  Romish  and  the  Episcopal  churches  are 
bringing  us,  descendants  of  the  Puritans,  back  to  those 
primitive  customs.  I,  for  one,  come  back  willingly  and 
joyfully." 

[Ev&  Van  Arsdel  to  Isabel  Convers.] 

My  Darling  Belle  : — I  have  been  a  naughty  girl  to  let  your 
letter  lie  so  long.  But  my  darling,  it  is  not  true,  as  you 
there  suggest,  that  the  bonds  of  sisterly  affection,  which 
bound  us  in  school,  are  growing  weaker,  and  that  I  no 
longer  trust  you  as  a  confidential  friend.  Believe  me,  the 
day  will  never  come,  dearest  Belle,  when  I  shall  cease  to 
unfold  to  you  every  innermost  feeling. 

And  now  to  come  to  the  point  about  "  that  Mr.  Hender- 
son." Indeed,  my  love,  your  cautions  are  greatly  mistaken. 
It  is  true  that,  much  to  my  surprise,  he  has  taken  a  fancy 
to  visit  quite  intimately  at  our  house,  and  has  made  him- 
self a  general  favorite  in  the  family.  Mamma,  and  Aunt 
Maria,  and  all  the  girls  like  him  so  much.  But,  then,  you 
must  know  he  is  generally  set  down  as  Ida's  admirer.  At 
all  events  Ida  and  he  are  extremely  good  friends ;  and  when 
he  calls  here  he  generally  spends  the  largest  part  of  the 
evening  in  her  sanctum ;  and  they  have  most  edifying  con- 
versations on  all  the  approved  modern  topics — the  Darwin- 
ian theory,  woman's  rights,  and  everything  else  you  can 
think  of.  One  thing  I  admit  is  a  little  peculiar— he  notices 
every!  liing  that  1  say  in  conversation — I  must  own.  I  never 
saw  such  an  observing  creature.  For  example,  the  first 
evening  he  was  at  our  house,  I  just  accidentally  dropped 
before  him  the  remark  that  1  was  going  to  early  morning 


286  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

services  in  Lent,  and  would  you  believe  it  ? — the  next  morn- 
ing he  was  there  too,  and  walked  home  with  me.  I  was 
the  more  astonished,  because  he  does  not  belong  to  the 
Church — so  one  would  not  expect  it,  you  know.  He  is  a 
member  of  the  Bethany  Church  himself,  but  he  seems  de- 
lighted with  our  services,  and  talks  about  them  beauti- 
fully—as well  as  our  rector  could.  I  really  wish  you  could 
have  heard  him !  He  seems  to  have  such  an  earnest, 
thoughtful  mind ;  and  what  I  like  in  him  is,  that  he  never 
flatters,  and  talks  that  matter-of-course  complimentary 
nonsense,  that  some  men  think  is  the  thing  to  be  talked 
to  ladies ;  neither  has  he  that  way  of  talking  down  to  one 
that  superior  men  sometimes  have,  when  they  are  talk- 
ing with  us  girls.  I  read  somewhere  this  sentiment — that 
we  may  know  the  opinion  people  have  of  us  by  the  kind 
of  conversation  they  address  to  us — and  if  this  is  so  I 
ought  to  be  flattered  by  the  way  Mr.  Henderson  talks  to 
me ;  for  I  think  he  shows  quite  as  much  anxiety  to  find 
out  my  opinion  on  all  subjects  as  he  does  Ida's.  You 
will,  perhaps,  think  it  rather  peculiar  if  I  tell  you  that 
ever  since  that  first  morning  he  has  been  as  constant  at 
the  morning  services  as  1  have,  and  always  walks  home 
wi:h  me.  In  this  way  we  really  are  getting  quite  inti- 
mately acquainted.  Now,  Belle,  don't  put  on  that  know- 
ing look  of  yours,  and  intimate  that  there  is  anything 
particular  in  all  this,  for  there  is  not.  .  I  do  assure  you  there 
is  not  a  bit  of  nonsense  in  it.  You  would  be  perfectly 
astonished  to  hear  how  gravely  and  philosophically  we  talk. 
We  moralize  and  philosophize,  and  as  Jim  Fellows  would 
say,  "  come  the  high  moral  dodge "  in  a  way  that  would 
astonish  you. 

And  yet,  Belle,  they  wrong  us  who  are  called  fashionable 
girls,  when  they  take  for  granted  that  we  are  not  capable  of 
thinking  seriously,  and  that  we  prefer  those  whose  conver- 
sation consists  only  of  flattery  and  nonsense.  It  is  mainly 
because  1  feel  that  Mr.  Henderson  has  deep,  serious  purposes 
in  life,  and  because  he  appreciates  and  addresses  himself 
to  the  deepest  part  of  my  nature  that  his  friendship  is  so 


EASTER  LILIES.  287 

valuable  to  me.  1  say  friendship  advisedly,  dear  Belle, 
because  I  insist  upon  it  that  there  can  be  friendship,  pure 
and  simple,  between  a  gentleman  and  a  lady;  in  our  case 
there  is  "only  this  and  nothing  more." 

How  very  teasing  and  provoking  it  is  that  there  cannot  be 
this  friendship  without  observation  and  comment !  Now  I 
am  very  careful  to  avoid  any  outward  appearance  of  special 
intimacy  that  might  make  talk,  and  he  appears  to  be  very 
careful  also.  After  the  first  day  at  morning  service  he  did 
not  join  me  immediately  on  going  out  of  church,  but  went 
out  at  another  door  and  joined  me  at  the  next  corner.  I 
was  so  thankful  for  it,  for  old  Mrs.  Eyelett  was  there  with 
her  sharp  eyes,  and  I  know  by  experience  that  though  she 
is  a  pillar  of  the  church  she  finds  abundance  of  leisure  from 
her  devotions  to  watch  all  the  lambs  of  the  flock ;  and  1  am 
one  that  everybody  seems  to  keep  specially  in  mind  as 
proper  to  be  looked  after.  If  I  only  speak  to,  or  look  at, 
or  walk  with  the  same  person  more  than  once,  the  airy 
tongues  of  rumor  are  busy  engaging  and  marrying  me. 
Isn't  it  horrid?  I  would  not  have  old  Mrs.  Eyelett  get 
anything  of  this  sort  into  her  head  for  the  world;  it's  so 
disagreeable  to  have  such  a  thing  get  to  a  gentleman's 
hearing  when  he  knows  there  is  no  truth  in  it ;  and  the 
world  has  condescended  to  interest  itself  so  much  in  my 
fortunes  that  it  seems  dangerous  for  anybody  to  be  more 
than  civil  without  being  set  down  as  an  aspirant. 

The  only  comfort  there  is  in  being  persistently  reported 
engaged  to  Mr.  Sydney  is  that  it  serves  to  keep  off  other 
reports,  and  I  sometimes  think  of  the  old  fable  of  the  fox 
who  would  not  have  the  present  swarm  of  flies  driven  off 
lest  there  should  come  a  new  one  in  its  place.  How  I  wish 
people  would  let  one's  private  affairs  alone  !  Here  I  must 
break  off,  for  there  is  company  down  stairs. 

Wednesday  Eve. 

I  have  let  this  thing  lie  seme  days,  dear  Belle,  because 
t .lii-re  has  been  so  much  going  and  coming,  time  has  flitted 
away.  Mr.  H.  has  been  at  our  house  a  good  deal.  I  have 


288  M T  WIFE  AND  I. 

made  a  discovery  about  him.  He  has  a  beautiful  cousin  that 
he  thinks  everything  of — "  Cousin  Caroline  " — and  she  is  a 
very  superior  woman.  So  you  see  how  silly  all  your  sug- 
gestions are,  Belle.  For  aught  I  know  he  may  be  engaged 
to  this  cousin  Caroline.  I  believe  she  is  coming  to  New 
York,  and  1  am  just  wild  to  see  her.  You  know  I  want 
to  see  if  I  shall  like  her.  She  must  be  just  the  thing 
for  him ;  and  I  hope  I  shall  like  her.  Ida  thinks  she  shall. 
Aunt  Maria,  who  wants  to  portion  off  the  fate  of  mortals, 
has  made  up  her  mind  that  Mr.  H.  must  be  an  admirer  of 
Ida's;  and  in  short,  that  they  are  to  be  for  each  other. 

Ida  looks  down  on  all  this  sort  of  thing  with  her  placid 
superiority.  She  has  a  perfect  contempt  for  it,  so  very  per- 
fect that  it  is  quiet.  She  does  not  even  trouble  herself  to 
express  it.  Ida  likes  Mr.  H.  very  much,  and  has  a  straight- 
forward, open,  honest  friendship  with  him,  and  doesn't 
trouble  her  head  a  bit  what  people  may  say. 

Saturday  Morning. 

We  are  all  busy  now  about  Easter  decorations.  We  have 
ordered  no  end  of  flowers,  and  are  going  into  adornments  on 
a  great  scale.  We  press  all  hands  in  that  we  can  get.  Mr. 
Henderson  and  Jim  Fellows  are  coming  to-night  to  tea  to 
help  us  carry  our  things  to  church  and  get  them  up. 

Monday  Morning. 

I  am  so  tired.  We  were  up  nearly  all  night  Saturday,  and 
then  at  the  sunrise  service  Easter  morning,  and  services 
all  day.  Beautiful !  Lovely  as  they  could  be  !  But  if  one 
has  a  good  time  in  this  world,  one  must  pay  for  it — and  I  am 
all  tired  out. 

Mr.  Henderson  was  with  us  through  the  whole  affair. 
One  thing  seemed  to  me  quite  strange.  I  dropped  my  glove 
among  some  flowers,  while  I  was  busy  putting  up  a  wreath 
of  lilies,  and  I  saw  him  through  a  bower  of  hemlock  trees 
walk  up  to  the  spot,  and  slyly  confiscate  the  article.  In  a 
moment  I  came  back,  and  said,  "  I  dropped  my  glove  here. 
Where  can  it  be  ?"  The  wretched  creature  helped  me  search 
for  it,  with  every  appearance  of  interest,  but  never  offered 


EASTER  LILIES.  289 

to  restore  the  stolen  goods.  It  was  all  so  quiet— so  private ! 
You  know,  gentlemen  often  pretend,  as  a  matter  of  gal- 
lantry, that  they  want  your  glove,  or  a  ribbon,  or  some 
such  memento  ;  but  this  was  all  so  secret.  He  evidently 
thinks  I  don't  know  it;  and,  Belle — what  should  you  think 
about  it  1  EVA. 


290  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 


CHAPTER     XXVIII. 

ENCHANTMENT  AND  DISENCHANTMENT. 

|URINGr  a  month  after  Easter,  I  was,  so  to  speak,  in 
a  state  of  mental  somnambulism,  seeing  the  visi- 
ble tMngs  of  this  mortal  life  through  an  enchant- 
ed medium,  in  which  old,  prosaic,  bustling  New  York,  with 
its  dry  drudgeries  and  uninteresting  details,  became  sud- 
denly vivified  and  glorified ;  just  as  when  some  rosy  sunset 
floods  with  light  the  matter-of-fact  architecture  of  Print- 
ing-House  Square,  and  etherealizes  every  line,  and  guides 
every  detail,  and  heightens  every  bit  of  color,  till  it  all 
seems  picturesque  and  beautiful. 

I  did  not  know  what  was  the  matter  with  me,  but  I  felt 
somehow  as  if  I  had  taken  the  elixir  of  life  and  was  breath- 
ing the  air  of  an  immortal  youth.  Whenever  I  sat  down 
to  write  I  found  my  inspiration.  I  no  longer  felt  myself 
alone  in  my  thoughts  and  speculations  ;  I  wrote  to  another 
mind,  a  mind  that  I  felt  would  recognize  mine ;  and  then 
1  cariied  what  I  had  written,  and  read  it  to  Ida  Van  Arsdel 
for  her  criticisms.  Ida  was  a  capital  critic,  and  had  gra- 
ciously expressed  her  willingness  and  desire  to  aid  me 
in  this  way,  to  any  extent.  But  was  it  Ida  who  was  my 
inspiration "? 

Sitting  by,  bent  over  her  embroidery,  or  coming  in  acci- 
dentally and  sitting  down  to  listen,  was  Eva ;  full  of 
thought,  full  of  inquiry;  sometimes  gay  and  airy,  some- 
times captious  and  controversial— always  suggestive  and 
inspiring.  From  these  readings  grew  talks  protracted  and 
confidential,  on  all  manner  of  subjects ;  and  each  talk  was 
the  happy  parent  of  more  talks,  till  it  seemed  that  there  was 
growing  up  an  endless  series  of  occasions  for  our  having 
long  and  exciting  interviews ;  for,  what  was  said  yesterday, 


ENCHA  NTMENT  AND  DISENCHANTMENT.    2  9 1 

in  the  reflections  and  fancies  of  the  night  following,  imme- 
diately blossomed  out  into  queries  and  consequences  and 
inferences  on  both  sides,  which  It  was  immediately  and 
pressingly  necessary  that  we  should  meet  to  compare  and 
adjust.  Now,  when  two  people  are  in  this  state  of  mind, 
it  is  surprising  what  a  number  of  providential  incidents  are 
always  bringing  them  together.  It  was  perfectly  aston- 
ishing to  us  both  to  find  how  many  purely  accidental  in- 
terviews we  had.  If  I  went  out  for  a  walk,  I  was  sure,  first 
or  last,  to  meet  her.  To  be  sure  I  took  to  walking  very 
much  in  streets  and  squares  where  I  had  observed  she 
might  be  expected  to  appear — but  that  did  not  make  the 
matter  seem  to  me  the  less  unpremeditated. 

I  had  been  in  the  habit  of  taking  a  daily  constitutional 
stroll  in  Central  Park,  and  the  Van  Arsdels  were  in  the 
habit  of  driving  there,  at  orthodox  fashionable  hours.  In 
time,  it  seemed  to  happen  that  this  afternoon  stroll  of  mine 
always  brought  forth  the  happy  fruit  of  a  pleasant  inter- 
view. 

There  was  no  labyrinth  or  bower  or  summer-house,  no 
dingle  or  bosky  dell,  so  retired  that  I  did  not  find  it  occa- 
sionally haunted  by  the  presence  of  this  dryad. 

True  she  was  not  there  alone ;  sometimes  with  Ida,  some- 
times with  Alice,  or  with  a  lively  bevy  of  friends— but  it 
made  no  difference  with  whom,  so  long  as  she  was  there. 

The  many  sins  of  omission  and  commission  of  which  the 
City  Fathers  of  New  York  are  accused,  are,  I  think,  won- 
derfully redeemed  and  covered  by  the  beauties  of  the  pro- 
vision for  humanity  which  they  have  made  in  Central  Park 
Having  seen  every  park  in  the  world,  I  am  not  ashamed 
to  glorify  our  own,  as  providing  as  much  beauty  and  cheap 
pleasure  as  can  anywhere  be  found  under  the  sun. 

Especially  ought  all  lovers  par  excellence  to  crown  the 
projectors  and  executors  of  this  Park  with  unfading  wreaths 
of  olive  and  myrtle.  It  is  so  evidently  adapted  to  all  the 
purposes  of  falling  in  love  and  keeping  in  love  that  the  only 
wonder  is  that  any  one  can  remain  a  bachelor  in  presence 


292  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

of  such  advantages  and  privileges  !  There  is  all  the  peace- 
fulness,  all  the  seclusion,  all  the  innocent  wildness  of  a 
country  Arcadia,  given  for  the  price  of  a  five  cents'  ride  in 
the  cars  to  any  citizen  who  chooses  to  be  made  moral  and 
innocent. 

The  Central  Park  is  an  immortal  poem,  forever  address- 
ing itself  to  the  eye  and  ear  in  the  whirl  and  bubble  of  that 
hot  and  bewildered  city.    It  is  a  Wordsworth  immortalized 
and  made  permanent,  preaching  to  the  citizens. 
"  One  impulse  from  a  vernal  mood 
May  teach  you  more  of  man— 
Of  moral  evil,  and  of  good — 

Than  all  the  sages  can." 

Certainly  during  this  one  season  of  my  life  I  did  full  jus- 
tice to  the  beauties  of  Central  Park.  There  was  not  a  nook 
or  corner  where  wild  flowers  unfolded,  where  white-stemmed 
birches  leaned  over  still  waters,  or  ivies  clambered  over 
grottoed  rocks,  which  I  did  not  explore ;  and  when  in  the 
winding  walks  of  "  the  Ramble  "  I  caught  distant  sight  of  a 
white  drapery,  or  heard  through  budding  thickets  the  sil- 
very sounds  of  laughing  and  talking,  I  knew  I  was  coming 
on  one  of  those  pleasant  sui  prises  for  which  the  Park 
grounds  are  so  nicely  arranged. 

Sometimes  Eva  would  come  with  a  carriage  full  of  chil- 
dren, and  with  the  gay  little  fairies  would  pass  a  sunny 
afternoon,  swinging  them,  watching  them  riding  in  the 
little  goat-carriages,  or  otherwise  presiding  over  their  gaie- 
ties. We  had,  under  these  circumstances,  all  the  advantage 
of  a  tete-a  tete  without  any  of  the  responsibility  of  seeking 
or  prolonging  it.  In  fact,  the  presence  of  others  was  a 
salvo  to  my  conscience,  and  to  public  appearance,  for,  look- 
ing on  Eva  as  engaged  to  another,  1  was  very  careful  not  to 
go  over  a  certain  line  of  appearances  in  my  relations  to  her. 
My  reason  told  me  that  1  was  upon  dangeious  ground  for 
my  own  peace,  but  1  quieted  reason  as  young  men  in  my 
circumstances  generally  do,  by  the  best  of  arguments. 

1  said  to  myself  that,  "No  matter  if  she  were  engaged, 
why  shouldn't  I  worship  at  her  shrine,  and  cherish  her  un- 


ENCHANTMENT  AND  DISENCHANTMENT.     293 

frge  as  Dante  did  that  of  Beatrice,  and  Tasao  that  of 
Eleanora  d'Este  f"  and  so  on. 

"  To  be  sure,"  I  reflected,  "  this  thing  can  never  come  to 
anything  ;  of  course  she  never  can  be  anything  to  you  more 
than  a  star  in  the  heavens.  But,"  I  said  in  reply,  "she  is 
mine  to  worship  and  adore  with  the  worship  that  we  give 
to  all  beautiful  things.  She  is  mine  as  are  fair  flowers, 
and  the  blue  skies,  and  the  bright  sunshine,  which  cheer 
and  inspire." 

I  was  conscious  that  I  had  in  my  own  most  sacred  recep- 
tacle at  home,  a  little  fairy  glove  that  she  had  dropped,  to 
which  I  had  no  claim;  but  I  said  to  myself,  "When  a  leaf 
falls  from  the  rose,  who  shall  say  that  I  shall  not  gather  it 
up  ?"  So,  too,  I  had  one  of  those  wonderful,  useless  little 
bits  of  fairy  gossamer,  which  Eve's  daughters  call  a  pocket- 
handkerchief.  I  had  yet  so  little  sense  of  sin  that  I  stole 
that  too,  kept  the  precious  theft  folded  in  iny  prayer-book, 
and  thought  she  would  never  know  it.  I  began  to  under- 
stand the  efficacy  that  is  ascribed  to  holy  relics,  for  it 
seemed  to  me  that  it*  ever  any  deadly  trouble  or  trial 
should  come  upon  me,  I  would  lay  these  little  things  upon 
my  heart,  and  they  would  comfort  me. 

And  yet,  all  this  while,  I  solemnly  told  myself  I  was 
not  in  love, — oh,  no,  not  in  the  least.  This  was  friendship — 
the  very  condeosed,  distilled  essence  of  friendship,  that 
and  nothing  more.  To  be  sure  it  was  friendship  set  to  a 
heroic  key — friendship  of  a  rare  quality.  I  longed  to  do 
something  for  her,  and  often  thought  how  glad  I  would  be 
to  give  nay  life  for  her.  Having  a  very  active  imagination, 
sometimes  as  I  lay  awake  at  night  1  perpetrated  all  sorts 
of  confusions  in  the  city  of  New  York,  for  the  sole*  pur- 
pose of  giving  myself  an  opportunity  to  do  something  for 
her.  I  set  fire  to  the  Van  Arsdel  mansion  several  times,  in 
different  ways,  and,  rushing  in,  bore  her  through  the  flames. 
I  inaugurated  a  horrible  plot  against  the  life  of  her  father, 
and  rushing  in  at  the  critical  moment,  delivered  the  old 
gentleman  that  I  might  revel  in  her  delight.  I  became  sud- 


294  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

denly  a  millionaire  by  the  death  of  a  supposititious  uncle 
in  the  East  Indies,  and  immediately  proceeded  to  lay  all  my 
treasures  at  her  feet. 

As  for  Mr.  Wafc  Sydney,  it  is  incredible  the  resignation 
with  which  I  saw  him  ship-wrecked,  upset  in  stages,  crushed 
in  railroad  accidents,  while  I  appeared  on  the  scene  as  the 
consoling  friend ;  not  that  I  had,  of  course,  any  purpose  of 
causing  such  catastrophes,  but  there  was  a  degree  of  resig- 
nation attending  the  view  of  them  that  was  soothing. 

I  had  in  my  heart  a  perfect  certainty  that  Sydney  was 
unworthy  of  her,  but  of  course  racks  and  thumbscrews 
should  not  draw  from  me  the  slightest  intimation  of  the 
kind,  in  her  presence. 

So  matters  went  on  for  some  weeks.  But  sometimes  it 
happens  when  a  young  fellow  has  long  wandered  in  a  beau- 
tiful dream  of  this  kind,  a  sudden  and  harsh  light  of  reality 
and  of  common-sense,  every-day  life ,  is  thrown  upon  him 
in  an  unforeseen  moment;  and  this  moment  at  last  arrived 
for  me. 

One  evening,  when  I  dropped  in  for  a  call  at  the  Van 
Arsdel  mansion,  the  young  ladies  were  all  out  at  a  con- 
cert, but  Mrs.  Van  Arsdel  was  at  home,  and  for  some  reason, 
unusually  bland  and  motherly. 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Henderson,"  she  said,  "  it  is  rather  hard  on 
you  to  be  obliged  to  accept  an  old  woman  like  me,  as  a  sub- 
stitute for  youth  and  beauty ;  but  really,  I  am  not  sorry,  on 
the  whole,  that  the  girls  are  out,  for  I  would  like  a  little 
chance  of  having  a  free,  confidential  talk  with  you.  Your 
relations  with  us  have  been  so  intimate  and  kindly,  I  feel, 
you  know,  quite  as  if  you  were  one  of  us." 

I  replied,  of  course,  that  '  I  was  extremely  nattered  and 
gratified  by  her  kindness,"  and  assured  her  with  effusion, 
and  if  I  mistake  not,  \vith  tears  in  my  eyes,  that '  she  had 
made  me  forget  that  I  was  a  stranger  in  New  York,  and 
that  I  should  always  cherish  the  most  undying  recollection 
of  the  kindness  that  1  had  received  in  her  family,  and  of 
the  pleasant  hours  1  had  spent  there.' 


ENCHANTMENT  AND  DISENCHANTMENT.     295 

"  Ah,  yes,  indeed  !"  she  said,  "  Mr.  Henderson,  it  is  pleas- 
ant to  me  to  think  that  you  feel  so.  I  like  to  give  young 
men  a  home  feeling.  But  after  all,"  she  continued,  "one 
feels  a  little  pensive  once  in  a  while,  in  thinking  that  one 
cannot  always  keep  the  home-circle  unbroken.  Indeed,  I 
never  could  see  how  some  mothers  could  seem  to  rejoice 
ae  they  do  in  the  engagement  of  their  daughters.  There 
is  Mrs.  Elmore,  now,  her  feelings  are  perfectly  inexplicable 
to  me." 

I  assured  her  that  I  was  quite  of  her  way  of  thinking, 
and  agreed  with  her  perfectly. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  "  as  the  time  comes  on,  when  I  begin  to 
think  of  parting  with  Eva,  though  to  the  very  best  man  in 
the  world,  do  you  know,  Mr.  Henderson,  it  really  makes  me 
feel  sad  F 

I  began  at  this  moment  to  find  the  drift  of  the  conversa- 
tion becoming  very  embarrassing  and  disagreeable  to  me, 
but  I  mustered  my  energies  to  keep  up  my  share  in  it  with 
a  becoming  degree  of  interest. 

"I  am  to  understand,  then,"  said  I,  forcing  a  smile, 
"that  Miss  Eva's  engagement  with  Mr.  Sydney  is  a  settled 
fact?" 

"Well,  virtually  so,"  she  replied.  "Eva  is  averse  to  the 
publicity  of  public  announcements ;  but — you  know  how 
it  is,  Mr.  Henderson,  there  are  relations  which  amount  to 
the  same  thing  as  an  engagement."  Here  Mrs.  Van  Arsdel 
leaned  back  on  the  sofa  and  drew  a  letter  from  her  pocket, 
while  the  words  of  my  part  of  the  conversation  did  not 
seem  to  be  forthcoming.  I  sat  in  embarrassed  silence. 

"  The  fact  is,  Mr.  Henderson,"  sbe  said,  settling  the 
diamonds  and  emeralds  on  her  white,  shapely  fingers,  "  1 
have  received  a  letter  to-day  from  Mr.  Sidney, — he  is  a  noble 
fellow,"  she  added,  with  empressment. 

I  secretly  wished  the  noble  fellow  at  Kamtschatka,  but  I 
said,  in  sympathetic  tones,  "  Ah,  indeed  ?"  as  if  waiting  for 
the  farther  communication,  which  I  perceived  she  was 
determined  to  bestow  on  me. 


296  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "he  is  coming  to  New  York  in  a  short 
time,  and  then,  I  suppose,  there  is  no  doubt  that  all  will  be 
finally  arranged.  I  confess  to  you  I  have  the  weakness  to 
feel  a  little  depressed  about  it.  Did  you  ever  read  Jean 
Ingelow's  Songs  of  Seven,  Mr.  Henderson?  I  think  she 
touches  so  beautifully  on  the  trials  of  mothers  in  giving  up 
their  daughters  f 

I  said,  "  I  only  trust  that  Mr.  Sydney  is  in  some  degree 
worthy  of  Miss  Van  Arsdel ;  though,"  I  added  with  warmth, 
"no  man  can  be  wholly  so. ' 

"  Eva  is  a  good  girl,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Arsdel,  "  and  I 
must  confess  that  the  parting  from  her  will  be  the  greatest 
trial  of  my  life.  But  I  thought  I  would  let  you  know  how 
matters  stood,  because  of  the  very  great  confidence  which 
we  feel  in  you." 

I  found  presence  of  mind  to  acknowledge  politely  my 
sense  of  the  honor  conferred.  Mrs.  Van  Ar&del  continued 
playing  prettily  with  her  rings. 

"  One  thing  more  perhaps  I  ought  to  say,  Mr.  Hender- 
son, while  your  intimacy  in  our  family  is  and  has  been 
quite  what  I  desire,  yet  you  know  people  are  so  absurd, 
and  will  say  such  absurd  things,  that  it  might  not  be  out 
of  the  way  to  suggest  a  little  caution ;  you  know  one 
wouldn't  want  to  give  rise  to  any  reports  that  might  be 
unpleasant — anything,  you  know,  that  might  reach  Mr. 
Sydney's  ear — you  understand  me." 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Van  Arsdel,  is  it  possible  that  anything 
has  been  said  ?" 

"  Now,  now,  don't  agitate  yourself,  Mr.  Henderson  ;  I 
know  what  you  are  going  to  say — no,  nothing  of  the  kind. 
But  you  know  that  we  elderly  people,  who  know  the  world 
and  just  what  stupid  and  unreasonable  things  people  are 
always  saying,  sometimes  have  to  give  you  young  folks 
just  the  slightest  little  caution.  Your  conduct  in  this  fam- 
ily has  been  all  that  is  honorable,  and  gentlemanly,  and  un- 
exceptionable, Mr.  Henderson,  and  such  as  would  lead  us  to 
repose  the  most  perfect  confidence  in  you.  In  fact,  I  beg 


ENCHANTMENT  AND  DISENCHANTMENT.     297 

you  to  consider  this  communication  with  regard  to  Eva's 
connection  with  Mr.  Sydney,  as  quite  in  confidence/' 

"  I  certainly  shall  do  so,"  said  I,  rising  to  take  my  leave, 
with  much  the  same  sort  of  eagerness  with  which  one  rises 
from  a  dentist's  chair,  after  having  his  nerves  picked  at. 
As  at  this  moment  the  voices  of  the  returning  party  broke 
up  our  interview,  I  immediately  arose,  and  excusing  my- 
self with  the  plea  of  an  article  to  finish,  left  the  house  and 
walked  home  in  a  state  of  mind  as  disagreeable  as  my  worst 
enemy  could  have  wished.  Like  all  delicate  advisers  who 
are  extremely  fearful  of  hurting  your  feelings,  Mrs.  Van 
Arsdel  had  told  me  nothing  definite,  and  yet  had  said 
enough  to  make  me  supremely  uncomfortable.  What  did 
she  mean,  and  how  much  did  she  mean?  Had  there  been 
reports'?  Was  this  to  be  received  as  an  intimation  from 
Eva  herself?  Had  she  discovered  the  state  of  my  feelings, 
and  was  she,  through  her  mother,  warning  me  of  my 
danger  ? 

All  my  little  romance  seemed  disenchanted.  These  illu- 
sions of  love  are  like  the  legends  of  hidden  treasures 
guarded  by  watchful  spirits  which  disappear  from  you 
if  you  speak  a  word ;  or  like  an  enchanting  dream,  which 
vanishes  if  you  start  and  open  your  eyes.  I  tossed  to  and 
fro  restlessly  all  night,  and  resolved  to  do  precisely  the 
most  irrational  thing  that  I  could  have  done,  under  the 
circumstances,  and  that  was  to  give  up  going  to  the  Van 
Arsdel  house,  and  to  see  Eva  no  more. 

The  next  morning,  however,  showed  me  that  I  could  not 
make  so  striking  a  change  in  my  habits  without  subjecting 
myself  to  Jim  Fellows'  remarks  and  inquiry.  I  resolved  on 
a  course  of  gradual  emancipation  and  detachment. 

[Eva  Van  Arsdel  to  Isabel  Convers.] 

J///  Dearest  Belle : — Since  I  wrote  to  you  last  there  have 
been  the  strangest  changes.  I  scarcely  know  what  to  think. 
You  remember  I  told  you  all  about  Easter  Eve,  and  a  cer- 
tain person's  appearance,  and  about  the  stolen  glove  and  aU 


298  MY  WIFE  AND  1. 

that.  Your  theory  of  accounting  for  all  this  was  precisely 
mine ;  in  fact  I  could  think  of  no  other.  And,  Belle,  if  I 
could  only  see  you  I  could  tell  you  of  a  thousand  little 
things  that  make  me  certain  that  he  cares  for  me  more  than 
in  the  way  of  mere  friendship.  I  thought  I  could  not  be 
mistaken  in  that.  There  has  been  scarcely  a  day  since  our 
acquaintance  began  when  I  have  not  in  some  way  seen  him 
or  heard  from  him ;  you  know  all  those  early  services,  when 
he  was  as  constant  as  the  morning,  and  always  watked 
home  with  me;  then,  he  and  Jim  Fellows  always  spend 
at  least  one  evening  in  a  week  at  our  house,  and  there 
are  no  end  of  accidental  meetings.  For  example,  when  we 
take  our  afternoon  drives  at  Central  Park  we  are  sure  to 
see  them  sitting  on  the  benches  watching  us  go  by,  and  it 
came  to  be  quite  a  regular  thing  when  we  stopped  the  car- 
riage at  the  terrace  and  got  out  to  walk  to  find  them  there, 
and  then  Alice  would  go  off  with  Jim  Fellows,  and  Mr.  H. 
and  I  would  stroll  up  and  down  among  the  lilac  hedges  and 
in  all  those  lovely  little  nooks  and  dells  that  are  so  charm- 
ing. I'm  quite  sure  I  never  explored  the  treasures  of  the 
Park  as  I  have  this  Spring.  We  have  rambled  everywhere — 
up  hill  and  down  dale— it  certainly  is  the  loveliest  and 
most  complete  imitation  of  wild  nature  that  ever  art  per- 
fected. One  could  fancy  one's  self  deep  in  the  country  in 
some  parts  of  it;  far  from  all  the  rush  and  whirl  and 
frivolity  of  this  great,  hot,  dizzy  New  York.  You  may 
imagine  that  with  all  this  we  have  had  opportunity  to 
become  very  intimate.  He  has  told  me  all  about  himself, 
all  the  history  of  his  life,  all  about  his  mother,  and  his 
home;  it  seems  hardly  possible  that  one  friend  could  speak 
more  unreservedly  to  another,  and  I,  dear  Belle,  have 
found  myself  speaking  with  equal  frankness  to  him.  We 
know  each  other  so  perfectly  that  there  has  for  a  long  time 
seemed  to  be  only  a  thin  impalpable  cob-web  barrier  be- 
tween us ;  but  you  know  Belle,  that  airy  filmy  barrier  is 
something  that  one  would  not  by  a  look  or  a  word  disturb. 
For  weeks  I  have  felt  every  day  that  surely  the  next  time 
we  meet  all  this  must  come  to  a  crisis.  That  he  would 


ENCHANTMENT  AND  DISENCHANTMENT.    209 

say  in  words  what  ho  says  in  looks — in  involuntary  actions— 
what  in  fact  I  sun  perfectly  sure  of.  Till  he  speaks  I  must 
he  guarded.  I  must  hold  myself  back  from  showing  him 
the  kindly  interest  I  really  feel.  For  I  am  proud,  as  you 
know,  Belle,  and  have  always  held  the  liberty  of  my  heart 
as  a  sacred  treasure.  I  have  always  felt  a  secret  triumph  in 
the  consciousness  that  I  did  not  care  for  anybody,  and  that 
my  happiness  was  wholly  in  my  own  hands,  and  I  mean 
to  keep  it  so.  Our  friendship  is  a  pleasant  thing  enough, 
but  I  am  not  going  to  let  it  become  too  necessary,  you 
understand.  It  isn't  that  I  care  so  very  much,  but  my  curi- 
osity is  really  excited  to  know  just  what  the  real  state  of 
the  case  is;  one  wants  to  investigate  interesting  phe- 
nomena you  know.  When  I  saw  that  little  glove  movement 
on  Easter  Eve  I  confess  I  thought  the  game  all  in  my  own 
hands,  and  that  I  could  quietly  wait  to  say  "  checkmate" 
in  due  form  and  due  time ;  but  after  all  nothing  came  of  it ; 
that  is,  nothing  decisive ;  and  I  confess  I  didn't  know  what 
to  think.  Sometimes  I  have  fancied  some  obstacle  or  en 
tanglement  or  commitment  with  some  other  woman— this 
Cousin  Caroline  perhaps— but  he  talks  about  her  to  me  in 
the  most  open  and  composed  manner.  Sometimes  I  fancy 
he  has  heard  the  report  of  my  engagement  to  Sydney.  If 
he  has,  why  doesn't  he  ask  me  about  it  ?  I  have  no  objec- 
tion to  telling  him,  but  I  certainly  shall  not  open  the  sub- 
ject myself.  Perhaps,  as  Ida  thinks,  he  is  proud  and  poor 
and  not  willing  to  be  a  suitor  to  a  rich  young  good-for- 
nothing.  Well,  that  can't  be  helped,  he  must  be  a  suitor  if 
he  wins  me,  for  J  shan't  be ;  he  must  ask  me,  for  I  cer- 
tainly shan't  ask  him,  that's  settled.  If  he  would  "ask 
me  pretty,"  now,  who  knows  what  nice  things  he  might 
hear  ?  I  would  tell  him,  perhaps,  how  much  more  one  true- 
noble  heart  is  worth  in  my  eyes  than  all  that  Wat  Sydney 
has  to  give.  Sometimes  I  am  quite  provoked  with  him 
that  he  should  look  so  much,  and  yet  say  no  more,  and  I 
feel  a  naughty  wicked  inclination  to  flirt  with  somebody 
else  iust  to  make  him  open  those  "grands  yeux"  of  his  a 


300  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

little  wider  and  to  a  little  better  purpose.  Sometimes  I 
begin  to  feel  a  trifle  vindictive  and  as  if  I  sliould  like  to 
give  liiin  a  touch  of  the  claw.  The  claw,  my  dear,  the  little 
pearly  claw  that  we  women  keep  in  reserve  in  the  "pattc 
de  velours,"  our  only  and  most  sacred  weapon  of  defense. 

The  other  night,  at  Mrs.  Cerulean's  salon,  she  was  hold- 
ing forth  with  great  effect  on  woman's  right  to  court  men 
— as  natural  and  indefeasible— and  I  told  her  that  I  con- 
sidered our  right  to  be  courted  far  more  precious  and 
inviolable.  Of  course  it  is  so.  The  party  that  makes  the 
proposals  is  the  party  that  must  take  the  risk  of  refusal, 
and  who  would  wish  to  do  that?  It  puts  me  out  of  all 
patience  just  to  think  of  it.  If  there  is  anything  that  vexes 
me  it  is  that  a  man  should  ever  feel  sure  that  a  woman's 
heart  is  at  his  disposal  before  he  has  asked  for  it  prettily 
and  properly  in  all  due  form,  and,  my  dear,  I  have  the  fear 
of  this  before  my  eyes,  even  in  our  most  intimate  moments. 
He  shall  not  feel  too  sure  of  me. 


Wednesday  Evening. 

My  dear  Belle,  I  can't  think  what  in  the  world  is  up  now ; 
but  something  or  other  has  happened  to  a  certain  person 
that  has  changed  all  our  relations.  For  more  than  a  week 
I  have  scarcely  seen  him.  He  called  with  Jim  Fellows  on 
the  usual  evening,  but  did  not  go  into  Ida's  room,  and 
hardly  came  near  me,  and  seemed  all  in  a  flutter  to  leave 
all  the  time.  He  was  at  the  great  Elmore  wedding,  and  so 
was  I,  but  we  scarcely  spoke  all  the  evening.  I  could  see 
him  following  all  my  motions  and  watching  we  at  a  distance, 
but  as  sure  as  I  came  into  a  room  he  seemed  in  a  perfect 
flutter  to  get  out  of  it,  and  yet  no  sooner  had  he  done  so 
than  he  secured  some  position  where  he  could  observe  me 
at  a  distance.  I  was  provoked  enough,  and  I  thought  if 
my  lord  wanted  to  observe,  I'd  give  him  something  to  see, 
so  I  flirted  with  Jerrold  Livingstone,  whom  I  don't  care  a 
copper  about,  within  an  inch  of  his  life,  and  I  made  a 


ENCHANTMENT  AND   DISENCHANTMENT.   301 

special  effort  to  oe  vasiy  agreeable  to  all  the  danglers  and 
moustaches  that  1  usually  take  delight  in  snubbing,  and 
I  could  see  that  he  looked  quite  wretched,  which  was  a 
comfort — but  yet  lie  wouldn't  come  near  me  till  just  as  I 
was  going  to  leave,  when  lie  came  to  beg  I  would  stay 
longer  and  declared  that  ho  hadn't  seen  anything  of  me. 
It  was  a  little  too  much!  I  assumed  an  innocent  air  and 
surveyed  him  "  dc  liaut  en  bas"  and  said,  "Why,  dear  me,i 
Mr.  Henderson,  possible  that  you've  been  here  all  this  time  ? 
Where  have  you  kept  yourself  ?"  and  then  I  handed  my  bou- 
quet to  Livingstone  and  swept  by  in  triumph  ;  his  last  look 
after  me  as  I  went  down  stairs  was  tragical,  you  may 
believe.  Well,  I  can't  make  him  out,  but  I  don't  care.  I 
won't  care.  He  was  free  to  come.  Ho  shall  be  free  to  go ; 
but  isn't  it  vexatious  that  in  cases  of  this  kind  one  cannot 
put  an  end  to  the  tragedy  by  a  simple  common-sense  ques- 
tion? 

One  doesn't  care  so  very  much,  you  know,  what  is  the 
matter  with  these  creatures,  only  one  is  curious  to  know 
what  upon  earth  makes  them  act  so.  A  man  sets  up  a 
friendship  with  you,  and  then  looks  and  acts  as  if  he 
adored  you,  as  if  he  worshiped  the  ground  you  tread  on, 
and  then  is  off  at  a  tangent  with  a  tragedy  air,  and  you  are 
not  allowed  to  say  "  My  dear  sir,  why  do  you  behave  so  ? 
why  do  3'ou  make  such  a  precious  goose  of  yourself?" 

The  fact  is,  these  friendships  of  women  with  men  are  all 
fol-dc-rol.  The  creatures  always  have  an  advantage  over 
you.  They  can  make  every  advance  and  come  nearer  and 
nearer  and  really  make  themselves  quite  agreeable,  not  to 
say  necessary,  and  then  suddenly  change  the  whole  footing 
and  one  cannot  even  ask  why.  One  cannot  say,  as  to 
another  woman,  "What  is  the  matter?  what  has  altered 
your  manner  ?"  She  cannot  even  show  that  she  notices  the 
change,  without  loss  of  self-respect.  A  woman  in  friend- 
ship Aviih  u  man  is  made  heartless  by  this  very  necessity, 
she  must  always  hold  herself  ready  to  change  hands  and 
make  her  chass6  to  right  or  left  with  all  suitable  indiffer- 


302  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

ence  whenever  her  partner  is  ready  for  another  move  in  the 
cotillion. 

Well,  so  be  it.  I  fancy  I  can  do  this  as  well  as  an- 
other. I  never  shall  inquire  into  his  motives.  I'm  sorry 
for  him,  too,  for  he  looked  quite  haggard  and  unhappy. 
Well ;  it's  his  own  fault ;  for  if  he  would  only  be  open  with 
me  he'd  find  it  to  his  advantage— perhaps. 

You  are  quite  mistaken,  dear,  in  what  you  have  heard 
about  his  belonging  to  that  radical  party  of  strange  crea- 
tures who  rant  and  rage  about  progress  in  our  times.  Like 
all  generous,  magnanimous  men,  who  are  conscious  of 
strength,  he  sympathizes  with  the  weak,  and  is  a  champion 
of  woman  wherever  she  is  wronged  ;  and  certainly  in  many 
respects,  we  must  all  admit  women  are  wronged  by  the 
laws  and  customs  of  society.  But  no  man  could  be  nicer 
in  his  sense  of  feminine  delicacy  and  more  averse  to  associa- 
ting with  bold  and  unfeminine  women  than  he.  I  must 
defend  him  there.  I  am  sure  that  nothing  could  be  more 
distasteful  to  him  than  the  language  and  conduct  of  many 
of  these  dreadful  female  reformers  of  our  day.  If  I  am  out 
of  sorts  with  him  I  must  at  least  do  him  this  justice. 

You  inquire  about  Alice  and  Jim  Fellows ;  my  dear,  there 
can  be  nothing  there.  They  are  perfectly  well  matched ;  a 
pair  of  flirts,  and  neither  trusts  the  other  an  inch  farther 
than  they  can  see.  Alice  has  one  of  those  characters  that 
lie  in  layers  like  the  geologic  strata  that  our  old  professor 
used  to  show  us.  The  top  layer  is  all  show,  and  display  and 
ambition ;  dig  down  below  that  and  you  find  a  warm  vol- 
canic soil  where  noble  plants  might  cast  root.  But  at  pres- 
ent she  is  all  in  the  upper  stratum.  She  must  have  her  run 
of  flirting  and  fashion  and  adventure,  and  just  now  a 
splendid  marriage  is  her  ideal,  but  she  is  capable  of  a  great 
deal  in  the  depths  of  her  nature.  All  I  hope  is  she  will  not 
marry  till  she  has  got  down  into  it,  but  she  is  starting  under 
full  sail  now,  coquetting  to  right  and  left,  making  great 
slaughter. 

She  looked  magnificently  at  the  wedding  and  quite  out- 


ENCHANTMENT  AND  DISENCHANTMENT.   303 

phono  me.  She  has  that  superb  Spanish  style  of  beauty 
which  promises  to  wear  well  and  bloom  out  into  more  splen- 
dor as  time  goes  on,  and  she  has  a  good  heart  with  all  her 
nonsense. 

Well,  dear,  what  a  long  letter!  and  must  I  add  to  it  the 
account  of  the  wedding  glories— lists  of  silver  and  gold  tea 
sets,  and  sets  of  pearls  and  diamonds  *?  My  dear,  only  fancy 
Tiffany's  counters  transferred  bodily,  with  cards  from  A., 
B.,  and  C.,  presenting  this  and  that ;  fancy  also  the  young 
men  of  your  acquaintance  silly-drunk,  or  stupid-drunk  in 
the  latter  part  of  the  night  in  the  supper-room ;  fancy,  if 
you  can,  the  bridegroom  carried  up  stairs,  because  he 
couldn't  go  up  on  his  own  feet !— this  is  a  wedding !  Never 
mind!  the  brido  had  three  or  four  eets  of  diamond  shoe- 
buckles,  and  rubies  and  emeralds  in  the  profusion  of  the 
Arabian  Nights.  Well,  it  will  be  long  before  I  care  for  such 
a  wedding !  I  am  sick  of  splendors,  sated  with  nick-nacks, 
my  doll  is  stuffed  with  saw-dust,  &c.,  &c.,  but  I  shall  ever 
be  your  loving  EVA. 

P.  S. — My  Dear — A  case  of  conscience  !— Would  it  be  a  sin 
to  flirt  a  little  with  Sydney,  just  enough  to  aggravate  some- 
body else  ?  Sydney's,  you  mind,  is  not  a  deep  heart-case. 
He  only  wants  me  because  I  am  hard  to  catch,  and  have 
been  the  fashion.  I'll  warrant  him  against  breaking  his 
heart  for  anybody.  However,  I  don't  believe  I  will  flirt 
after  all  I'll — try  some  other  square  of  the  chess-board. 

The  confidential  conversation  held  with  me  by  Mrs.  Van 
Arsdel  had  all  the  effect  on  my  mental  castle-building 
that  a  sudden  blo\v  had  on  Alnaschar's  basket  of  glass  ware 
in  the  Arabian  tales. 

Nobody  is  conscious  how  far  he  has  been  in  dreamland  till 
he  is  awakened.  I  was  now  fully  aroused  to  the  fact  that 
I  was  in  love  with  Eva  Van  Arsdel,  to  all  intents  and  pur- 
poses, so  much  in  love  as  made  the  nourishing  and  cherish- 
ing of  an  intimate  friendship  an  impossibility,  and  only  a 
specious  cloak  for  a  sort  of  moral  dishonest j.  Now  I 
might  have  known  this  fact  in  the  beginning,  and  I  scolded 


304  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

and  lectured  myself  for  my  own  folly  in  not  confessing  it 
to  myself  before.  I  had  been  received  by  the  family  as  a 
friend.  I  had  been  trusted  with  their  chief  treasure,  with 
the  understanding  that  it  was  to  belong  not  to  me  but 
another,  and  there  was  a  species  of  moral  indelicacy  to 
my  mind  in  having  suffered  myself  to  become  fascinated  by 
her  as  I  now  felt  that  I  was.  But  I  did  not  feel  adequate 
to  congratulating  her  as  the  betrothed  bride  of  another 
man ;  nay,  more,  when  I  looked  back  on  the  kind  of  inti- 
mate and  confidential  relations  that  had  been  growing  up 
between  us,  I  could  not  but  feel  that  it  was  not  safe 
for  me  to  continue  them.  Two  natures  cannot  exactly 
accord,  cannot  keep  time  and  tune  together,  without  being 
conscious  of  the  fact  and  without  becoming  necessary  to 
each  other ;  and  such  relations  in  their  very  nature  tend  to 
grow  absorbing  and  exclusive.-  It  was  plain  to  me  that  if 
Eva  were  to  marry  Wat  Sydney  I  could  not  with  honor  and 
safety  continue  the  kind  of  intimacy  we  had  been  so 
thoughtlessly  and  so  delightfully  enjoying  for  the  past  few 
weeks. 

But  how  to  break  it  off  without  an  explanation,  and  how 
make  that  explanation?  There  is  a  certain  responsibility 
resting  on  a  man  of  conscience  and  honor,  about  accepting 
all  that  nearness  of  access,  and  that  closeness  of  intimacy 
which  the  ignorant  innocence  of  young  girls  often  invites 
From  his  very  nature,  from  his  education,  from  his  posi- 
tion in  society,  a  young  man  knows  more  of  what  the  full 
significance  and  requirements  of  marriage  are  to  be  than  a 
young  woman  can,  and  he  must  know  the  danger  of  absorb- 
ing and  exclusive  intimacy  with  other  than  a  husband.  The 
instincts  of  every  man  teach  that  marriage  must  be  engross- 
ing and  monopolizing,  that  it  implies  a  forsaking  of  all  oth- 
ers, and  a  keeping  unto  one  only ;  and  how  could  that  bo 
when  every  taste  and  feeling,  every  idiosyncracy  and  indi- 
vidual peculiarity  made  the  society  of  some  other  person 
more  agreeable  *? 

Without  undue  personal  vanity,  a  man  will  surely  know 


ENCHANTMENT  AND  DISENCHANTMENT.     305 

when  there  is  a  special  congeniality  of  nature  between 
himself  and  a  certain  woman,  and  he  is  bound  in  conscience 
and  honor  to  look  ahead  in  all  his  intimacies  and  see  what 
must  be  the  inevitable  result  of  them  according  to  the  laws 
of  the  human  mind.  Because  1  had  neglected  this  caution, 
because  I  had  yielded  myself  blindly  to  the  delicious  en- 
chantment of  a  new  enthusiasm,  I  had  DOW  come  to  a  place 
where  1  knew  neither  how  to  advance  nor  recede. 

I  could  not  drop  this  intimacy,  so  dangerous  to  my  peace 
and  honor,  without  risk  of  offending ;  to  explain  was,  in 
fact,  to  solicit.  I  might  confess  all,  cast  myself  at  her  feet 
— but  supposing  she  should  incline  to  mercy — and  with 
a  woman's  uncalculating  disinterestedness  accept  my  love 
in  place  of  wealth  and  station,  what  should  I  then  do  ? 

Had  1  been  possessed  of  a  fortune  even  half  equal  to  Mr. 
Sydney's  ;  had  I,  in  fact,  any  settled  and  assumed  position 
to  offer,  I  would  have  avowed  my  love  boldly  and  suf- 
fered her  to  decide.  But  I  had  no  advantage  to  stand  on.  I 
was  poor,  and  had  nothing  to  give  but  myself ;  and  what 
man  is  vain  enough  to  think  that  he  is  in  himself  enough  to 
make  up  for  all  that  may  be  wanting  in  externals  ? 

Besides  this,  Eva  was  the  daughter  of  a  rich  family, 
and  an  offer  of  marriage  from  me  must  have  appeared  to 
all  the  world  the  interested  proposal  of  a  fortune-hunter. 
Of  what  avail  would  it  be  under  such  circumstances  to 
plead  that  I  loved  her  for  herself  alone  ?  I  could  fancy 
the  shout  of  incredulous  laughter  with  which  the  suggestion 
would  be  received  in  the  gay  world. 

"  So  very  thoughtful  of  the  fair  I 
It  showed  a  true  fraternal  care. 
Five  thousand  guineas  in  her  purse— 
The  fellow  might  have  fancied  worse." 

Now,  if  there  was  anything  that  my  pride  revolted  from 
as  an  impossibility,  it  was  coming  as  a  poor  suitor  to  a  great 
rich  family.  Were  I  even  sure  that  Eva  loved  me,  how 
could  I  do  that  ?  Would  not  all  the  world  say  that  to 
make  use  of  my  access  in  the  family  to  draw  her  down  from 


306  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

a  splendid  position  in  life  to  poverty  and  obscurity  was  on 
my  part  a  dishonorable  act  1  Could  I  trust  myself  enough 
to  feel  that  it  was  justice  to  her  ? 

The  struggle  that  a  young  man  has  to  engage  in  to  secure 
a  self-supporting  position,  is  of  a  kind  to  make  him  keenly 
alive  to  material  values.  Dr.  Franklin  said,  "  If  you  would 
learn  the  value  of  money,  try  to  borrow  some."  I  would 
say  rather,  Try  to  earn  some,  and  to  live  only  on  what  you 
earn.  My  own  hard  experience  on  tais  subject  led  me  to 
reflect  very  seriously  on  the  responsibility  which  a  man 
incurs  in  inducing  a  woman  of  refinement  and  culture  to 
look  to  him  as  her  provider. 

In  our  advanced  state  of  society  there  are  a  thousand  ab- 
solute wants  directly  created  by  culture  and  refinement ;  and 
whatever  may  be  said  about  the  primary  importance  of  per- 
sonal affection  and  sympathy  as  the  foundation  of  a  happy 
marriage,  it  is  undoubtedly  true  that  a  certain  amount  of 
pecuniary  ease  and  security  is  necessary  as  a  background  on 
which  to  develop  agreeable  qualities.  A  man  and  woman 
much  driven,  care-worn,  and  overtaxed,  often  have  little  that 
is  agreeable  to  show  to  each  other.  I  queried  with  myself 
then,  whether,  as  Eva's  true  friend,  I  should  not  wish  that 
she  might  marry  a  respectable  man,  devoted  to  her,  who 
could  keep  her  in  all  that  elegance  and  luxury  she  was 
so  fitted  to  adorn  and  enjoy ;  and  whether  if  I  could  do  it, 
I  ought  to  try  to  put  myself  in  his  place  in  her  mind. 

A  man  who  detects  himself  in  an  unfortunate  passion 
has  always  the  refuge  of  his  life-object.  To  the  Jrue  man, 
the  thing  that  he  hopes  to  do  always  offers  some  compensa- 
tion for  the  thing  he  ceases  to  enjoy. 

It  was  fortunate  therefore  for  me,  that  just  in  this  crisis 
of  my  life,  my  friendship  with  Bolton  opened  before  me 
the  prospect  of  a  permanent  establishment  in  connection 
with  the  literary  press  of  the  times. 


NEW  OPENING.  307 


CHAPTER     XXIX. 

A  NEW  OPENING. 


said  Bolton  to  me,  one  day,  how 
long  are  you  engaged  on  the  Democracy  ?" 
"  Only  for  this  year,"  said  I. 

"  Because,"  said  he,  "  I  have  something  to  propose  to  you 
which  1  hope  may  prove  a  better  thing.  Hestennann  & 
Co.  sent  for  me  yesterday  in  secret  session.  The  head  man 
ager  of  their  whole  set  of  magazines  and  papers  has  resign- 
ed, and  is  going  to  travel  in  Europe,  and  they  want  me  to 
take  the  place." 

"Good!  I  am  heartily  glad  of  it,"  said  I.  "I  always 
felt  that  you  were  not  in  the  position  that  you  ought  to  have. 
You  will  accept,  of  course." 

"  Whether  I  accept  or  not  depends  on  J/OM,"  he  replied. 

"  I  cannot  understand,"  said  I. 

"In  short,  then,"  said  he,  "the  responsibility  is  a  heavy 
one,  and  I  cannot  undertake  it  without  a  partner  whom  I 
can  trust  as  myself  —I  mean,"  he  added,  "  whom  I  can  trust 
more  than  myself." 

"  You  are  a  thousand  times  too  good,"  said  I.  "  I  should 
like  nothing  better  than  such  a  partnership,  but  I  feel  op- 
pressed by  your  good  opinion.  Are  you  sure  that  I  am  the 
one  for  you  f 

"  I  think  I  am,"  said  he,  "  and  it  is  a  case  where  I  am  the 
best  judge  ;  and  it  offers  to  you  just  what  you  want  —  a  stable 
position,  independence  to  express  yourself,  and  a  good  in- 
come. Hestermann  &  Co.  are  rich,  and  wise  enough  to 
know  that  liberality  is  the  best  policy." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  their  offers  are  made  to  you,  and  not  to 
me." 


308  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

"Well,  of  course,  their  acquaintance  with  me  is  of  old 
standing ;  but  I  have  spoken  to  them  of  you,  and  I  am  to 
bring  you  round  to  talk  with  them  to-morrow ;  but,  after 
all,  the  whole  power  of  arranging  is  left  with  me.  They 
put  a  certain  sum  at  my  disposal,  and  I  do  what  I  please 
with  it.  In  short,"  he  said,  smiling,  "  I  hold  the  living,  and 
you  are  my  curate.  Well,"  he  added,  "of  course  you  need 
time  to  think  matters  over ;  here  is  paper  on  which  I  have 
made  a  little  memorandum  of  an  arrangement  between  us ; 
take  it  and  dream  on  it,  and  let  me  know  to-morrow  what 
you  think  of  it." 

I  went  to  my  room  and  unfolded  the  agreement,  and  found 
the  terms  liberal  beyond  all  my  expectations.  In  fact,  the 
income  of  the  principal  was  awarded  to  me,  and  that  of 
the  subordinate  to  Bolton. 

I  took  the  paper  the  next  evening  to  Bolton's  room. 
"Look  here,  Bolton,"  said  I,  "these  terms  are  simply 
absurd." 

"  How  so  f  he  said,  lifting  his  eyes  tranquilly  from  his 
book.  "  What's  the  matter  with  them  ?" 

"  Why,  you  give  me  all  the  income." 

"  Wait  till  you  see  how  I'll  work  you,"  he  said,  smiling. 
"  I'll  get  it  out  of  you ;  you  see  if  I  don't." 

"  But  you  leave  yourself  nothing." 

"I  have  as  much  as  I  would  have,  and  that's  enough. 
I'm  a  literary  monk,  you  know,  with  no  family  but  Puss 
and  Stumpy,  poor  fellow,  and  I  need  the  less." 

Stumpy  upon  this  pricked  up  his  ragged  ears  with  an 
expression  of  lively  satisfaction,  sat  back  on  his  haunches, 
and  rapped  the  floor  with  his  forlorn  bit  of  a  tail. 

"  Poor  Stumpy,"  said  Bolton,  "  you  don't  know  that  you 
aie  the  homeliest  dog  in  New  York,  do  you?  Well,  as  far 
as  you  go,  you  are  perfect  goodness,  Stumpy,  though  jou 
are  no  beauty." 

Upon  this  high  praise,  Stumpy  seemed  so  elated  that  he 
stood  on  his  hind  paws  and  rested  his  rough  fore-feet  on 
Bolton's  knee,  and  looked  up  with  eyes  of  admiration. 


A  NEW  OPENING.  309 

"  Man  is  the  dog's  God,"  said  Bolton.  "  I  can't  conceive 
how  any  man  can  be  rude  to  his  dog.  A  dog,"  he  added, 
fondling  his  ragged  cur,  "  why,  he's  nothing  but  organized 
love — love  on  four  feet,  encased  in  fur,  and  looking  piteously 
out  at  the  eyes— love  that  would  die  for  you,  yet  cannot 
speak— that's  the  touching  part.  Stumpy  longs  to  speak; 
his  poor  dog's  breast  heaves  with  something  he  longs  to  tell 
me  and  can't.  Don't  it,  Stumpy  ?" 

As  if  he  understood  his  master,  Stumpy  wheezed  a  doleful 
whine,  and  actual  tears  stood  in  his  eyes. 

"Well,"  said  Bolton,  "Stumpy  has  beautiful  eyes;  no- 
body shall  deny  that— there,  there!  poor  fellow,  maybe  on 
the  other  shore  your  rough  bark  will  develop  into  speech  ; 
let's  hope  so.  I  confess  I'm  of  the  poor  Indian's  mind,  and 
hope  to  meet  my  dog  in  the  hereafter.  Why  should  so  much 
love  go  out  in  nothing?  Yes,  Stumpy,  we'll  meet  in  the 
resurrection,  won't  we  ?"  Stumpy  barked  aloud  with  the 
greatest  animation. 

"  Bolton,  you  ought  to  be  a  family  man,"  said  I.  "  Why 
do  you  take  it  for  granted  that  you  are  to  be  a  literary 
monk,  and  spend  your  love  on  dogs  and  cats?" 

"  You  may  get  married,  Hal,  and  I'll  adopt  your  children," 
said  Bolton  ;  "that's  one  reason  why  I  want  to  establish 
you.  You  see,  one's  dogs  will  die,  and  it  breaks  one's  heart. 
If  you  had  a  boy,  now,  I'd  invest  in  him." 

"  And  why  can't  you  invest  in  a  boy  of  your  own  ?" 

"  Oh,  I'm  a  predestined  old  bachelor." 

"No  such  thing,"  I  persisted,  hardily,  "Why  do  you 
immure  yourself  in  a  den?  Why  won't  you  go  out  into 
society  ?  Here,  ever  since  I've  known  you,  you  have  been 
in  this  one  cave — a  New  York  hermit ;  yet  if  you  would 
once  begin  to  go  into  society,  you'd  like  it." 

"  You  think  I  haven't  tried  it ;  you  forget  that  I  am  some 
years  older  than  you  are,"  said  Bolton. 

"  You  are  a  good-looking  young  fellow  yet,"  said  I,  "  and 
ought  to  make  the  most  of  yourself.  Why  should  you  turn 


310  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

all  the  advantages  into  my  hands,  and  keep  so  little  for 
yourself?" 

"  It  suits  me,"  said  Bolton  ;  "  I  am  lazy — I  mean  to  get  the 
work  out  of  you." 

"  Thaf  8  all  hum,"  said  I ;  "  you  know  well  enough  that 
you  are  not  lazy ;  you  take  delight  in  work  for  work's  sake." 

"  One  reason  I  am  glad  of  this  position,"  he  said,  "  is  that 
it  gives  me  a  chance  to  manage  matters  a  little,  as  I  want 
them.  For  instance,  there's  Jim  Fellows — I  want  to  make 
something  more  than  a  mad  Bohemian  of  that  boy.  Jim  is 
one  of  the  wild  growths  of  our  New  York  life  ;  he  is  a  crea- 
ture of  the  impulses  and  the  senses,  and  will  be  for  good  or 
evil  according  as  others  use  him." 

"  He's  capital  company,"  said  I,  "  but  he  doesn't  seem  to 
me  to  have  a  serious  thought  on  any  subject." 

"  And  yet,"  said  Bolton,  "  such  is  our  day  and  time,  that 
Jim  is  more  likely  than  you  or  I  to  get  along  in  the  world. 
His  cap  and  bells  win  favor  everywhere,  and  the  laugh  he 
raises  gives  him  the  privilege  of  saying  anything  he  pleases. 
For  my  part,  I  couldn't  live  without  Jim.  I  have  a  weak- 
ness for  him.  Nothing  is  so  precious  to  me  as  a  laugh,  and, 
wet  or  dry,  I  can  always  get  that  out  of  Jim.  He'll  work 
in  admirably  with  us. 

"  One  thing  must  be  said  for  Jim,"  said  I,  "  with  all  Ms 
keenness  he's  kind-hearted.  He  never  is  witty  at  the  ex- 
pense of  real  trouble.  As  he  says,  he  goes  for  the  under  dog 
in  the  fight  always,  and  his  cheery,  frisky,  hit-or-miss 
morality  does  many  a  kind  turn  for  the  unfortunate,  while 
he  is  always  ready  to  help  the  poor." 

"Jim  is  not  of  the  sort  that  is  going  to  do  the  world's 
thinking  for  them,"  said  Bolton ;  "  neither  will  he  ever  be 
one  of  the  noble  army  of  martyrs  for  principle.  He  is  like 
a  lively,  sympathetic  horse  that  will  keep  the  step  of  the 
team  he  is  harnessed  in,  and  in  the  department  of  lively 
nonsense  he'd  do  us  yeoman  service.  Nowadays  people 
must  have  truth  whipped  up  to  a  white  froth  or  they  won't 
touch  it.  Jim  is  a  capital  egg-beater." 


A  NEW  OPENING.  311 

"  Yes,"  said  I ;  "  he's  like  the  horse  that  had  the  GO  in  him ; 
he'll  run  any  team  that  he's  harnessed  in,  and  if  you  hold 
the  reins  he  won't  run  off  the  course." 

"  Then  again/'  said  Bolton,  "  there's  your  cousin  ;  there  is 
the  editorship  of  our  weekly  journal  will  be  just  the  place 
for  her.  You  can  write  and  otter  it  to  her." 

"Pardon  me/'  said  I,  maliciously,  "since  you  are  ac- 
quainted w  th  the  lady,  why  not  write  and  offer  it  yourself? 
It  would  be  a  good  chance  to  renew  your  acquaintance." 

Bolton's  countenance  changed,  and  he  remained  a  moment 
silent. 

"  Henderson/'  he  said,  "  there  are  very  painful  circum- 
stances connected  with  my  acquaintance  with  your  cousin. 
I  never  wish  to  meet  her,  or  renew  my  acquaintance  with 
her.  Sometime  I  will  tell  you  why,"  he  added. 

The  next  evening  I  found  on  my  table  the  following  let- 
ter from  Bolton  : 

J >((tr  Henderson:— You  need  feel  no  hesitancy  about  ac- 
cepting in  full  every  advantage  in  the  position  I  propose 
to  you,  since  you  may  find  it  weighted  with  disadvantages 
and  incumbrauces  you  do  not  dream  of.  In  short,  I  shall 
ask  of  you  services  for  which  no  money  can  pay,  and  till 
I  knew  you  there  was  no  man  in  the  world  of  whom  I  had 
dared  to  ask  them.  1  want  a  friend,  courageous,  calm,  and 
true,  capable  of  thinking  broadly  and  justly,  one  superior 
to  ordinary  prejudices,  who  may  be  to  ne  another,  and  in 
some  houis  a  stronger,  self. 

I  can  fancy  your  surprise  at  this  language,  and  yet  I  have 
not  read  you  aright  if  you  are  not  one  of  a  thousand  on 
whom  1  may  rest  this  hope. 

You  often  rally  me  on  my  lack  of  enterprise  and  ambi- 
lion,on  my  hermit  habits.  The  truth  is,  Henderson,  1  am 
a  strained  and  unseaworthy  craft,  for  whom  the  harbor 
and  shore  are  the  safest  quarters.  I  have  lost  trust  in 
myself,  and  dare  not  put  out  to  sea  without  feeling  the 
stronjr  hand  of  a  friend  with  me. 

1  suppose  no  young  fellow  ever  entered  the  course  of 


3 1 2  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

life  with  more  self-confidence.  I  had  splendid  health,  high 
spirits,  great  power  of  application,  and  great  social  powers. 
I  lived  freely  and  carelessly  on  the  abundance  of  my  physi- 
cal resources.  I  could  ride,  and  row,  and  wrestle  with  the 
best.  I  could  lead  in  all  social  gaieties,  yet  keep  the  head 
of  my  class,  as  I  did  the  first  two  years  of  my  college  life. 
It  seems  hardly  f  a;r  to  us  human  beings  that  we  should  be 
,,so  buoyed  up  with  ignorant  hope  and  confidence  in  the  be- 
ginning of  our  life,  and  that  we  should  by  left  in  our  ignor- 
aiice  to  make  mistakes  which  no  after  years  can  retrieve. 
I  thought  I  was  perfectly  sure  of  myself;  I  thought  my 
health  and  strength  were  inexhaustible,  and  that  1  could 
carry  weights  that  no  man  else  could.  The  drain  of  my 
wide-awake  exhausting  life  upon  my  nervous  system  1  made 
up  by  the  insidious  use  of  stimulants.  1  was  like  a  man 
habitually  overdrawing  his  capital,  and  ignorant  to  what 
extent.  In  my  third  college  year  this  began  to  tell  per- 
ceptibly on  my  nerves,  I  was  losing  self-control,  losing  my 
way  in  life ;  I  was  excitable,  irritable,  impatient  of  guidance 
or  reproof,  and  at  times  horribly  depressed.  I  sought 
refuge  from  this  depression  in  social  exhilaration,  and 
having  lost  control  of  myself  became  a  marked  tnan  among 
the  college  authorities  ;  in  short,  I  was  overtaken  in  a  con- 
vivial row,  brought  under  college  discipline,  and  suspended. 
It  was  at  this  time  that  I  went  into  your  neighborhood  to 
study  and  teach.  1  found  no  difficulty  in  getting  the  high- 
est recommendations  as  to  scholarship  from  some  of  the 
college  officers  who  were  for  giving  me  a  chance  to  recover 
myself ;  and  for  the  rest  I  was  thoroughly  sobered  and 
determined  on  a  new  course.  Bere  commenced  my  ac- 
quaintance with  your  couciu,  and  there  followed  a  few 
months  remembered  ever  since  as  the  purest  happiness  of 
my  life.  I  loved  her  with  all  there  was  in  me,— heart,  soul, 
mind  and  strength,— with  a  love  which  can  never  die.  She 
also  loved  me,  more  perhaps  than  she  dared  to  say,  for  she 
was  young,  hardly  come  to  full  consciousness  of  herself. 
She  was  then  scarcely  sixteen,  ignorant  of  her  own  nature, 


A  NEW  OPENING.  313 

ignorant  of  life,  and  almost  frightened  at  the  intensity  of 
tin*  feeling  which  she  excited  in  me,  vet  she  loved  me.  But 
before  we  could  arrive  at  anything  like  a  calm  understand- 
ing, her  father  came  between  us.  He  was  a  trustee  of  the 
Academy,  and  a  dispute  arose  between  him  and  me  in  which 
lie  treated  me  with  an  overbearing  haughtiness  which  arous- 
ed the  spirit  of  opposition  in  me.  I  was  in  the  right  and 
knew  I  was,  and  1  defended  my  course  before  the  other 
trustees  in  a  manner  which  won  them  over  to  my  way  of 
thinking — a  victory  which  he  never  forgave. 

Previously  to  this  encounter  I  had  Ueen  in  the  hahit  of 
visiting  in  his  family  quite  intimately.  Caroline  and  I 
enjoyed  that  kind  of  UN  watched  freedom  which  the,  customs 
of  New  Knuhuxl  allow  to  young  people.  I  always  attended 
her  home  from  the  singing-school  and  the  weekly  lectures, 
and  the  evening  after  my  encounter  with  the  trustees  1  did 
the  same.  At  the  door  of  his  house  he  met  us,  and  as  Caro- 
line passed  in  he  stopped  me,  and  briefly  saying  that  my 
visits  there  would  no  longer  be  permitted,  closed  the  door 
in  my  fa'-e.  I  tried  to  obtain  an  interview  soon  after,  when 
he  sternly  upbraided  me  as  one  that  had  stolen  into  the 
village  and  won  their  confidence  on  false  pretences,  adding 
that  if  he  and  the  trustees  had  known  the  full  history  of 
my  college  life  I  should  never  have  been  permitted  to  teach 
in  their  village  or  have  access  to  their  families.  It  was  in 
vain  to  attempt  a  defense  to  a  man  determined  to  take  the 
veiy  worst  view  of  facts  which  I  did  not  pretend  to  deny. 
I  knew  ihat  1  had  been  irreproachable  as  to  my  record  in 
the  school,  that  I  had  be*  n  faithful  in  my  duties,  that  the 
majority  of  parents  and  pupils  were  on  iny  side;  but  I  could 
not  deny  the  harsh  tacts  which  he  had  been  enabled  to 
obtain  from  some  secret  enemy,  and  which  he  thought  justi- 
fied him  in  saying  that  he  would  rather  s>ee  his  daughter 
in  her  grave  than  to  see  her  my  wife.  The  next  day  Caro- 
line did  not  appear  in  school.  Her  father,  with  pro:npt 
energy,  took  her  immediately  to  an  academy  fifty  miles 
away. 


314  MY  WIFE- AND  I. 

I  did  not  attetrpt  to  follow  her  or  write  to  her;  a  pro- 
found sense  of  discouragement  c;ime  over  xne,  and  I  look- 
ed on  my  acquaintance  with  her  with  a  sort  of  remorse. 
The  truth  bitterly  told  by  an  enemy  with  a  vivid  power 
of  statement  is  a  tonic  oftentimes  too  strong  for  cue's  pow- 
er of  endurance.  I  never  reflected  so  seriously  on  tbe 
responsibility  which  a  man  assumes,  in  awakening  the 
slumber'ng  fecl'ngs  of  a  woman,  and  fixing  them  on  him- 
self. Under  the  reproaches  of  Caroline's  father  I  could 
but  regard  this  as  a  wrong  I  had  done,  and  which  could  be 
expiated  only  by  leaving  her  to  peace  iu  iorgetfulness. 

1  resolved  that  I  would  never  let  her  hear  from  me  again, 
till  I  had  fully  proved  myself  to  be  possessed  of  such 
powers  of  self-control  as  would  warrant  me  in  offering  to 
be  the  guardian  of  her  happiness. 

But  when  I  set  myself  to  the  work,  I  found  what  many 
another  does,  that  I  had  reckoned  without  my  host.  The 
man  who  has  begun  to  live  and  work  by  artificial  stimu- 
lant, never  knows  whe^e  he  stands,  and  can  never  count 
upon  himself  with  any  certainty.  He  lets  into  his  castle  a 
servant  who  become  s  the  most  tyrannical  of  masters.  He 
may  resolve  to  turn  him  out,  but  will  find  himself  reduced 
to  the  condition  in  which  he  can  neither  do  with  nor  with- 
out him. 

In  short,  the  use  of  stimulant  to  the  brain-power  brings  on 
a  disease,  in  whose  paroxysms  a  man  is  no  more  his  own 
master  than  in  the  raviugs  of  fever,  a  disease  that  few  have 
the  knowledge  to  understand,  and  for  whose  manifestations 
the  world  has  no  pity. 

I  cannot  tell  you  the  dire  despair  that  came  upon  me, 
when  after  repeated  falls,  bridging -remorse  and  self-up- 
braiding to  me,  and  drawing  upon  me  the  severest  reproach- 
es of  my  friends,  the  idea  at  last  flashed  upon  me  that  1  had 
indeed  become  the  victim  of  a  sort  of  period ical  insanity 
in  which  the  power  of  the  will  was  overwhelmed  by  a  wild 
unreasoning  impulse.  I  remember  when  a  boy  reading  an 
account  of  a  bridal  party  sailing  gaily  on  the  coast  of  Nor- 


A  NEW  OPENING.  315 

wav  who  were  insidiously  drawn  into  the  resistless  outer 
whirl  of  the  irreat  Maelstrom.  The  horror  of  the  situation 
was  tin'  moment  when  the  shipmaster  learne<l  that  the 
ship  MO  longer  obeyed  the  rudder;  the  cruelty  of  it  was  the 
girdual  manner  iu  which  the  resistless  doom  came  upon 
them.  The  MIU  still  shone,  the  sky  was  still  blue.  The 
shore,  with  its  green  trees  and  free  birds  and  blooming 
ilouers,  was'ncar  and  visible  as  they  went  round  and  round 
in  diz/j'  whirls,  past  the  church  with  its  peaceful  spire, 
past  the  i  oine  cottages,  past  the  dwelling  ol  friends  and 
n  iirhbors,  p;»st  parents,  brothers,  and  sisters  who  stood  on 
t  ••  shore  warning  an<l  shrieking  and  entreating;  helpless, 
hopeless,  with  bitterness  in  their  souls,  with  all  that  made 
lite  lovely  so  near  in  sight,  and  yet  cut  off  from  it  by  the 
swii  I  of  that  ^remendous  fate ! 

There  have  been  just  such  hours  to  me,  in  which  I  have 
seen  the  hopes  of  manhood,  the  love  of  woman,  the  pos- 
session of  a  home,  the  opportunities  for  acqui  dnon  of  name, 
ana  position,  and  property,  all  within  sight,  within  gra^-p, 
yet  all  made  impossible  by  my  knowledge  and  conscious- 
ness of  the  deadly  drift  and  suction  of  that  invisible 
whirlpool. 

The  more  of  manliness  there  yet  is  left  in  man  in  these 
circumstances,  the  more  torture.  The  mor^.  sense  or  honor, 
Jove  of  reputation,  love  of  friends,  conscience  in  duty, 
the  more  anguish.  1  read  once  a  frightful  story  of  a  wo- 
man whose  right  hand  was  changed  to  a  serpent,  which  at 
intervals  was  roused  to  fiendish  activity  and  demanded 
of  her  the  blood  of  her  nearest  and  dearest  friends.  The 
hideous  curse  was  iuappeasable,  and  the  doomed  victim 
spell-bound,  powerless  to  resist.  Even  so  the  man  who  has 
lost  the  control  of  h  s  will  is  driven  to  torture  those  he 
loves,  while  he  shivers  with  horror  and  anguish  at  the 
si  glit. 

1  have  seen  the  time  when  I  gave  earnest  thanks  that 
no  woman  loved  me,  that  I  had  no  power  to  poison  the 
life  of  a  wife-  with  the  fear,  and  terror,  and  lingering  ago- 
ny of  watching  the  slow  fulfillment  of  such  a  doom. 


316  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

It  is  enough  to  say  that  with  every  advantage — of  friends, 
patronage,  p«  sition — I  lost  all 

The  world  is  cxiyeaut.  It  demands  above  everything  that 
every  man  shall  keep  step.  He  who  cannot,  falls  to  the  rear, 
and  is  gradually  left  behiud  as  the  army  moves  on. 

The  only  profession  left  to  me  was  one  whiwh  coidd  avail 
itself  of  my  lucid  intervals. 

The  power  of  clothing  thought  with  language  is  in  our 
day  growing  to  be  a  species  of  talent  .or  which  men  are 
willing  to  pay,  and  I  have  been  able  by  this  to  make  m.\  solf 
a  name  and  a  place  in  the  world;  and  what  is  more,  I  hope 
to  do  some  good  in  it. 

I  have  reflected  upon  my  own  temptation,  endeavoring 
to  divest  myself  of  the  horror  with  wliicU  my  sense  of  the 
suffering  and  disappointment  1  have  caused  my  frimds 
inspires  me.  I  have  settled  in  my  own  mind  the  limits  oii 
human  responsibility  oa  this  subject,  and  have  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  it  is  to  be  regarded  precisely  as  Mary 
Lamb  and  Charles  Larnb  regarded  the  incursion  of  the  ni  ;- 
nia  wh  ch  uestroyed  the  peace  of  their  life.  A  man  wLo 
undertakes  to  comprehend,  and  cure  himself,  has  to  fight 
his  way  back  alone.  Nobody  understands,  nobody  sympa- 
thizes with  iiiui,  nobody  helps  him— not  because  the  world 
is  unfeeling,  but  because  it  is  ignorant  of  the  laws  which 
govern  this  species  of  insanity. 

It  took  me,  therefore,  a  great  while  to  form  my  system  of 
self-cure.  I  still  hope  for  this.  I,  the  sane  and  sound,  1 
hope  to  provide  for  the  insane  and  unsound  intervals  of  my 
life.  Aad  my  theory  is,  brie  iy,  a  total  and  eternal  lelin- 
quishnient  of  the  poisonous  influence,  so  that  nature  may 
have  power  to  organize  new  and  healthy  brain-matter,  and 
to  remove  that  which  is  diseased.  Nature  will  do  this,  in 
the  end,  for  she  is  ever  merciful ;  there  is  always  "for- 
giveu  ss  with  her,  that  she  may  be  feartd."  Since  you 
have  known  me,  you  have  seen  that  1  live  the  life  of  an  an- 
chorite— that  my  hours  are  regular,  that  I  avoid  exciting 
society,  that  I  labor  with  uniformity,  and  that  1  never 
touch  any  stimulating  drink.  It  is  a  peculiarity  of  cases 


A  NEW  OPENING.  317 

like  mine  that  for  lengths  of  time  the  morbid  disease 
leaves  us,  and  we  feel  the  utmost  aversion  to  aiiy  tiling  of 
the  kind.  But  there  is  always  a  danger  lying  behind  this 
subtle  calm.  Three  or  four  drops  of  alcohol,  such  as  fonn 
the  basis  of  a  tincture  which  a  doctor  will  order  without 
scruple,  will  bring  back  the  madness.  Oue  five-minutes 
inadvertence  will  upset  the  painful  work  of  years,  and  carry 
one  away  as  with  a  flood.  When  I  did  not  know  this,  I  was 
constantly  falling.  Society  through  all  its  parts  is  full  of 
traps  and  pitfalls  for  such  as  I,  and  the  only  refuge  is  in 
flight. 

It  has  been  part  of  my  rule  of  life  to  avoid  all  responsi- 
bilities that  might  involve  others  in  niy  liability  to  failure. 
It  is  now  a  very  long  time  since  1  have  felt  any  abnormal 
symptoms,  and  if  I  had  not  so  often  been  thrown  down  jifter 
such  a  period  of  apparent  calm,  I  might  fancy  my  dangers 
over,  and  myself  a  sound  man. 

The  younger  Ilestennanu  was  a  class-mate  and  chum  of 
mine  in  college,  and  one  whose  friendship  for  ma  has  held 
on  through  thick  and  thin.  He  has  a  trust  in  me  that  im- 
poses on  me  a  painful  sense  of  responsibility.  I  would  not 
fail  him  for  a  thousand  worlds,  yet  if  one  of  my  hoars  of 
darkness  should  corne  I  should  tail  ignominiously. 

Only  one  motive  determined  me  to  take  their  offer — it  gave 
me  a  chance  to  provide  for  you  and  for  Caroline. 

1  dare  do  it  only  through  trusting  you  for  a  friendship 
beyond  that  of  the  common  ;  in  short,  for  a  brotherly  kind- 
ness such  as  Charles  Lamb  showed  to  Mary,  his  sister.  If 
the  curse  returns  upon  me,  you  must  not  let  me  ruin  myself 
and  you  ;  you  must  take  me  to  an  asylum  till  I  recover. 

In  asking  this  of  you,  I  am  glad  to  be  able  to  offer  what  will 
be  to  you  an  independent  position,  and  give  you  that  home 
and  fireside  which  I  may  not  dare  to  hope  far  myself. 

In  the  end,  I  expect  to  conquer,  either  here  or  hereafter. 
I  believe  in   the  Fatherhood  of  God,  and  that  He  h;i 
pu:iK)se  even   in  letting  us  bli  dly  stumble  through  life 
as  we  do ;  and  through  all  my  weakness  and  uu worthiness  I 


318  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

still  hold  his  hand.  I  know  that  the  whole  temptation  is  one 
of  braiu  and  nerves,  and  when  He  chooses  he  can  release 
me.  The  poor  brain  will  be  cold  and  still  for  good  and  all 
some  day,  and  I  shall  be  free  and  able  to  see,  1  trust,  why  I 
have  been  suffered  thus  to  struggle.  After  all,  immortality 
opens  a  large  hope,  that  may  overpay  the  most  unspeak- 
able bitterness  of  life. 

Meanwhile,  you  can  see  why  I  do  not  wish  to  be  brought 
into  personal  relations  with  the  only  woman  I  have  ever 
loved,  or  ever  can  love,  and  whose  happiness  I  fear  to  put 
in  peril.  It  is  an  unspeakable  delight  and  relief  to  have 
this  power  of  doing  for  her,  but  she  must  not  know  of  it. 

Also,  let  me  tell  you  that  you  are  to  me  more  transpa- 
rent than  you  think.  It  requires  only  the  penetration  of 
friendship  to  see  that  you  are  in  love,  and  that  you  hesit- 
ate and  hang  back  because  of  an  unwillingness  to  match 
your  fortunes  with  hers. 

Let  me  suggest,  do  you  not  owe  it  as  a  matter  of  justice, 
after  so  much  intimacy  as  has  existed,  to  give  her  the  oppor- 
tunity to  choo«e  between  a  man  and  circumstances  ?  If  the 
arrangement  between  us  goes  into  effect,  you  will  have  a 
definite  position  and  a  settled  income.  Go  to  her  like  a 
man  and  lay  it  before  her,  and  if  she  is  worthy  of  you  she 
will  come  to  you.  , 

"He  either  dreads  his  fate  too  much, 
Or  his  desert  is  small, 
Who  fears  to  put  it  to  the  touch, 
To  win  or  lose  it  all." 

God  grant  you  a  home  and  fireside,  Harry,  and  I  will  be 
the  indulgent  uncle  in  the  chimney-corner. 

Yours  ever,  BOI/TON. 


P  ER  TURBA  TIONS.  3 1 9 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

PERTURBATIONS. 

SCENE. — Ida's  Study — Ida  busy  making  notes  from  a  book — 
Eva  sitting  by,  embroidering. 

|  VA — "  Heigho !  liow  stupid  things  are.  T  am  tired 
of  everythiog.  I  am  tired  of  shopping — tired  of 
parties  -tired  of  New  York— where  the  same  thing 
k  rps  h. impelling  over  and  over.  I  wish  I  was  a  man.  I'd 
just  take  my  carpet-bag  and  go  to  Europe.  Come  now,  Ida, 
pray  slop  that,  and  talk  tonic,  do!" 

Ida,  putting  down  her  book  and  pen : 

"  Well- and  wiiat  about  ?" 

"Oh,  you  know!  -this  inextricable  puzzle — what  does  ail 
a  certain  person  ?  Now  he  didn't  come  at  all  last  night,  and 
when  I  asked  Jim  Fellows  where  tia  friend  was  (one  must 
pass  the  compliment  of  inquiring,  you  know),  he  said, 
*  Henderson  had  grown  dumpy  lately,'  and  he  couldn't 
get  him  out  anywhere." 

"  Well,  Eva,  I'm  sure  I  can't  throw  any  light  on  the 
subject.  I  know  no  more  than  you." 

"Now,  Ida,  let  me  tell  you,  this  afternoon  when  we  stop- 
ped in  the  park,  1  went  into  that  great  rustic  arbor  on 
£he  top  of  the  hill  there,  and  just  as  we  came  in  on  one 
side,  I  saw  him  in  all  haste  hurrying  out  on  the  other,  as 
if  he  were  afraid  to  meet  me." 

"  How  very  odd !" 

"  Odd !  Well,  I  should  think  it  was  ;  but  what  was  worse, 
he  went  and  stationed  himself  on  a  bench  under  a  trte 
wli.-re  he  could  hear  and  ^ee  us,  and  there  my  lord  sat— 
perhaps  he  thought  I  didn't  see  him,  but  I  did. 

"Lillie  and  Belle  Forrester  and  Wat  Jerrold  were  with  me, 


320  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

and  we  were  having  such  a  laugh !  I  don't  know  when  I 
have  bad  such  a  frolic,  and  how  silly  it  was  of  him  to  sit 
there  glowering  like  an  owl  in  an  ivy  bush,  when  he  mi  v.  lit 
have  ?ome  out  and  joined  us,  and  had  a  good  time!  I'm 
quite  out  of  patience  with  the  creature,  it's  so  vexatious 
to  have  him  act  so !" 

"  It  is  vexatious,  darling,  but  then  as  you  can't  do  anything 
about  it  why  think  of  it  ?" 

"  Because  I  can't  help  it.  Can  you  have  a  real  friendship 
for  a  person  and  enjoy  his  society,  and  not  care  in  the 
least  whether  you  have  it  or  not  ?  Of  course  you  can't. 
We  were  friends— quite  good  friends,  and  I'm  not  ashamed 
to  say  T  miss  him,  very  nruch,  and  tlien  to  have  such  an 
unaccountable  mystery  about  it.  1  should  think  you'd  miss 
him  too." 

"  I  do  somewhat,''  said  Ida, "  but  then  you  see  I  have  so 
much  more  to  think  of.  I  have  my  regular  work  every  day 
for  papa,  and  I  have  my  plan  of  study,  and  to  say  the  truth, 
so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  though  I  liked  Mr.  Henderson 
very  muc't,  yet  I  lon't  miss  him." 

"  Well,  Ida,  now  I  want  to  ask  you,  didn't  you  think  he 
acted  as  if " 

"  As  if  lie  were  in  love  with  you,  you  would  say." 

"  We.l— ves." 

"  He  certainly  did,  if  I  am  any  judge  of  symptoms;  but 
then,  dear,  men  are  often  in  love  with  women  they  don't 
mean  to  marry." 

"Who  wants  to  marry  him,  I  should  like  to  know?  I'm 
not  l  hinking  of  that." 

"  Well,  then,  Eva,  perhaps  he  has  discovered  that  he  wants 
to  marry  you  ;  and,  perhaps,  for  some  leason  he  regards 
that  as  impossible,  and  so  is  going  to  tiy  to  keep  away." 

"  Ho<v  perfectly  hateful  and  stupid  of  him  !  I'd  rather 
never  have  seen  him." 

"  A  man  generally  has  this  advantage  over  a  woman 
in  a  matter  of  this  sort,  that  he  has  an  object  in  life  which  is 
more  to  him  than  anytliing  else,  and  he  can  fill  his  whole 
mind  with  that." 


PERTURBATIONS.  321 

"  Well,  Ida,  that's  all  very  true,  but  what  object  in  life  can 
a  girl  have  who  lives  as  we  do ;  who  has  everything  she  can 
want  without  an  effort — T  for  instance/' 

"  But  /  have  an  obji'ct." 

"Yes,  I  know  you  have,  but  I  am  different  from  you.  It 
would  be  a.s  impossible  for  me  to  do  as  you  do,  as  for  a  fish 
to  walk  upright  on  dry  land." 

"Well,  Eva,  this  objectless,  rootless,  floating  kind  of  life 
that  you  and  almost  all  Drills  lead,  is  at  the  bottom  of  nearly 
all  your  troubles.  Literally  and  truly  you  have  nothing  in 
the  world  to  do  but  to  amuse  yourselves  ;  the  consequence 
is  that  you  soon  get  tired  of  almost  every  kind  of  amuse- 
ment, and  so  every  friendship,  and  flirtation  assumes  a  dis- 
proportioued  interest  in  your  minds.  There  is  real  danger 
now  that  you  may  think  too  much  of  Mr." 

"  Oh,  stuff  and  nonsense,  Ida  !  I  won't,  so  there !  I'll  put 
him  out  ot  my  head  forthwith  and  bolt  the  door.  Give  me  a 
good  stiff  dose  of  reading,  Ida ;  one  of  your  dullest  scien- 
tific books,  and  get  me  to  write  you  an  analysis  of  it  as  we/ 
did  at  school.  Here,  let  me  see,  '  Descent  of  Man.'  Come, 
no\v,  I'll  sit  down  and  go  at  it." 

Eva  sits  down  with  book,  pencil  and  paper,  and  turns  over 
the  leaves. 

"  Let's  try  how  it  looks.  '  Sexual  Selection' !  Oh,  hor- 
rid !  '  Her  Ape-like  Proportions' !  I  should  be  ashamed 
to  talk  s •)  about  my  ancestors.  Apes!— of  all  things— why 
not  some  more  respectable  animal  ?  lions  or  horses,  for  ex- 
ample. You  remember  Swift's  story  about  the  houyhn- 
hnms.  Isn't  this  a  dreadfully  dull  book,  Ida  ?" 

"No,  I  don't  find  it  so.  I  am  deeply  interested  in  it, 
though  I  admit  it  is  pretty  heavy." 

"  But,  then,  Ida,  you  see  it  goes  against  the  Bible, 
doesn't  it  f 

*•  Not  necessarily  as  I  see." 

"  Why,  yes ;  to  be  sure.  I  haven't  read  it ;  but  Mr.  Hen- 
derson gave  me  the  clearest  kind  of  a  sketch  of  the  argu- 
ment, and  that  is  the  way  it  impressed  ine.  That  to  be  sure 


322  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

is  among  the  things  I  principally  value  him  for;  he  is  my 
milk-skimmer ;  he  gets  all  the  cream  that  rises  on  a  book 
and  presents  it  to  me  in  a  portable  form.  I  remember 
one  of  the  very  last  really  comfortable  long  talks  we  had ; 
it  was  on  this  subject,  and  I  told  him  that  it  seemed  to 
me  that  the  modern  theory  and  the  Bible  were  point  blank 
opposites.  Instead  of  men  being  a  fallen  race,  they  are  a 
rising  race,  and  never  so  high  as  now  ;  and  then,  what  be- 
comes of  the  Garden  of  Eden,  and  St.  Paul?  Now,  for  my 
part,  I  told  Mr.  Henderson  1  wasn't  going  to  give  up  all  the 
splendid  poetry  of  Milton  and  the  Bible,  just  because  Mr. 
Darwin  took  it  iuto  his  head  that  it  was  not  improbable 
that  my  seventy  fifth  millionth  grandfather  might  have 
been  a  big  baboon  with  green  nose  and  pointed  ears  !" 

"  My  dear  Eva,  you  have  capital  reasons  for  believing  and 
not  believing.  You  believe  what  seems  most  agreeable  and 
poetic." 

"  Exactly,  Ida  ;  and  in  those  far-off  regions,  sixteen 
-million  billion  ages  ago,  why  shouldn't  1 1  Nobody  knows 
what  happened  there ;  nobody  has  been  there  to  see  what 
made  the  first  particle  of  jelly  take  to  living,  and  turn  into 
a  germ  cell,  and  then  go  working  on  like  yeast,  till  it  worked 
out  into  all  the  things  we  see.  I  think  it  a  good  deal  easier 
to  believe  the  Garden  of  Eden  story,  especially  as  that  is 
pretty  and  poetical,  and  is  in  the  dear  old  Book  that  is  so 
sweet  and  comfortable  to  us  ;  but  then  Mr.  Henderson 
insists  that  even  if  we  do  hold  the  Evolution  theory,  the  old 
book  will  be  no  less  true.  I  never  saw  a  man  of  so  much 
thought  who  had  so  much  reverence." 

"I  thought  you  were  going  to  study  Darwin  and  not 
think  of  him,"  said  Ida. 

"  Well,  somehow,  almost  every  thing  puts  me  in  mind  of 
him,  because  we  have  had  such  long  talks  about  everything; 
and,  Ida,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  do  believe  I  am  intellectually 
lazy.  I  don't  like  rough  hard  work,  I  like  polishing  and  fur- 
bishing. Now,  I  want  a  man  to  go  through  all  this  rough, 
hard,  stupid,  disagreeable  labyrinth  of  scientific  terms,  and 


PERTURBATIONS.  323 

pick  out  the  meaning  and  put  it  into  a  few,  plain  words, 
and  then  I  tak.  it  and  hiighten  it  up  and  put  on  the  rain- 
bows. Look  here,  now,  think  of  my  having  to  scrabble 
through  a  l>og  like  this  in  the  "  Origin  of  the  Species": 

"'  In  Curthanms  and  some  other  composite  the  central 
achenes  alone  are  furnished  with  a  pappus  ;  and  in  Hyoseris 
the  same  head  yields  achenes  of  three  different  forms.  In 
certain  Umbellifeno  the  exterior  seeds,  according  to  Tanch, 
are  orthospermous,  and  the  central  one  coalospermous,  and 
this  difference  has  been  considered  by  De  Candolle  as  of  the 
highest  systematic  importance  in  the  family.' 

"Now  all  this  is  just  as  unintelligible  to  me  as  if  it 
were  written  in  Choctaw.  I  don't  know  enough  to  know 
what  it  means,  and  I'm  afraid  I  don't  care  enough  to  know. 
I  want  to  know  the  upshot  of  the  whole  in  good  plain 
English,  and  then  see  whether  I  can  believe  it  or  not ;  and 
isii  t  it  a  shame  thai  things  are  so  that  one  cannot  have  a  sen- 
sible man  to  be  one's  guide,  philosopher  and  friend,  with- 
out this  everlasting  marriage  question  coming  up  If  If  a 
woman  mikes  an  effort  to  get  or  keep  a  valuable  friend,  she 
is  supposed  to  be  intriguing  and  making  unfeminine  efforts 
for  a  husband.  Now  this  poor  man  is  perfectly  wretched 
about  something — for  I  can  see  he  has  really  gone  off  shock- 
ingly, and  looks  thin  and  haggard,  and  I  can't  just  write  him 
a  note  and  ask  him  to  come  and  finish  his  resuin6  of  Dar- 
win for  me,  without  going  over  the  boundaries;  and  the 
worst  of  it  is,  it  is  1  who  set  these  limits  ;— I  myself  who 
am  a  world  too  proud  to  say  the  first  word  or  give  the 
slightest  indication  that  his  absence  isn't  quite  as  agreeable 
as  his  presence." 

"  Well,  Eva,  I  can  write  a  note  and  request  him  to  call  and 
see  ?/ie,"  said  Ida,  "  andjf  you  like,  I  will.  I  have  no  sort  of 
fear  what  he  will  think  of  me." 

"  I  would  not  have  you  for  the  world.  It  would  look  like 
iiu  advance  on  our  part — no  indeed.  These  creatures  are 
so  conceited,  if  they  once  find  out  that  you  can't  do  without 
them " 


324  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

"  I  never  observed  any  signs  of  conceit  in  Mr.  Heuder- 
son." 

"  Well,  I  have  made  it  an  object  to  keep  him  a  little  hum- 
ble, so  far  as  his  sex  will  permit,  you  see.  But  seriously. 
Ida,  is  not  it  curious  about  this  marriage  matter'  Every- 
body sa;,s  it's  what  we  are  made  for,  all  the  novels  end 
with  it,  all  tbe  poems  are  about  it,  you  are  hearing  about  it 
in  one  way  or  other  ill  the  time ;  and  yet  all  this  while  you 
are  sapposed  not  to  care  anything  about  it  one  way  or  the 
other.  If  a  man  be  ever  so  agreeable  to  you,  and  do  ever  so 
much  to  make  you  like  him,  you  must  pretend  that  you  are 
quite  indifferent  to  him,  and  don't  caro  whether  he  comes 
or  goes,  until  such  time  as  he  chooses  to  launch  the  tremen- 
dous question  at  you." 

"  Well,"  said  Ida,  "  I  admit  that  there  is  just  this  ab- 
surdity in  our  life :  but  I  avoid  it  all  by  firmly  laying 
a  plan  of  my  own,  and  having  a  business  of  my  own.  To 
me  marriage  would  be  an  interruption  ;  it  would  require  a 
breaking  up  and  reconstruction  of  my  whole  plan,  and  of 
course  I  really  think  nothing  about  it." 

"  But  are  you  firmly  resolved  never  to  marry  f " 

"  No  ;  but  never,  unless  I  find  some  oue  more  to  me  than 
all  on  which  I  have  set  my  heart.  I  do  not  need  it  for  my 
happiness.  I  am  sufficient  to  myself ;  and  besides  I  have  an 
object  I  hope  to  attain,  and  that  is  to  open  a  way  by  which 
many  other  women  shall  secure  independence  and  com- 
fort and  ease." 

"  Deary  me,,  Ida,  I  wish  I  were  like  you :  but  I'm  not. 
It  seems  to  me  that  the  only  way  to  give  most  girls  any  con- 
centration or  object  is  to  marry  them.  Then,  somehow, 
things  seem  to  arrange  themselves,  and,  at  all  events,  the 
world  stops  talking  about  you,  and  wondering  what  yoa 
are  going  to  do  ;  they  get  you  off  ^heir  minds.  That  I  do 
believe  was  the  reason  why  at  one  time  I  came  so  near 
drifting  into  that  affair  with  Wat  Sydney.  Aunt  Maria 
was  so  vigorous  with  me  and  talked  in  such  a  commanding 
manner,  and  with  so  many  '  of  courses,'  that  I  really  began 


PERTURBATIONS.  325 

to  think  I  was  one  of  the  'of  courses'  myself;  but  my 
acquaintance  with  Mr.  Henderson  has  shown  me  that  it 
would  be  intolerable  to  live  with  a  man  that  you  couldn't 
tali  with  about  everything  that  conies  in  o  your  head  ;  and 
now  I  can't  talk  with  him,  and  I  won't  marry  Wat  Sydney; 
and  so  what  is  to  be  done?  Shall  I  go  to  Stewart's  and 
buy  me  a  new  suit  of  Willow  Green,  or  gird  up  the  lo  us 
of  my  mind  and  go  through  Darwin  like  a  man,  and  look 
out  all  the  terms  in  the  dictionary  and  come  out  the  other 
side  a  strong  minded  female  ?  or  shall  I  go  and  join  the 
Sisters  of  St.  John,  and  wear  a  gteat  white  cape  and  gray 
gown,  and  have  all  the  world  say  1  did  it  because  I 
couldn't  get  Wat  Sydney  (for  that's  exactly  what  they 
would  say),  or  what  shall  I  do?  The  trouble  is,  mamma 
and  Aunt  Maria  with  their  expectations.  It's  much  as 
in  im ma  can  do  to  survive  your  course,  and  if  /  take  to 
hiving  a  'purpose'  too,  1  don't  know  but  niaimna  would 
commit  suicide,  poor  dear  woman." 

(Enter  Alice  with  eniprtssemeut)-* 

"  Girls,  what  do  you  think  ?  Wat  Sydney  come  back  and 
going  to  give  a  great  croquet  party  out  at  Clairmont,  and 
of  course  we  are  all  invited  with  notes  in  the  most  re- 
spien.lent  style,  with  crest  and  coat  of  arms,  and  everything 
—perfectly  '  mag  !'  There's  to  be  a  steamboat  with  a  baud 
of  music  to  take  the  guests  up,  and  no  end  of  splendid 
doings  ;  marquees  and  tents  and  illuminatijns  and  tire- 
works,  and  to  return  by  moonlight  after  all's  over  ;  isn't 
it  lovely  ?  1  do  think  Wat  Sydney's  perfectly  splendid ! 
and  it's  all  on  your  account,  Eva,  1  know  it  is." 

"  Pooh,  nonsense,  you  absurd  c.iild,  1  don't  believe  it.  I 
dare  say  its  a  party  lust  to  proclaim  that  he  is  engaged  to 
somebody  else." 

"Do  you  know,"  added  Alice,  "I  met  Jim  Fellows,  and 
he  says  everybody  is  wild  about  this  party— just  st  irk, 
tearing  wild  about  it— for  it  isn't  going  to  be  a  crush — 
something  very  select." 

"Is  Jim  going?" 


326  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

"Yes,  he  showed  me  his  ticket  and  Henderson^,  and 
he  declared  he  was  going  to  take  '  Hal,'  as  he  called  him, 
spite  of  his  screams ;  he  said  that  he  had  been  writing  and 
studying  and  moping  himself  to  death,  arjd  that  he  should 
drag  him  out  by  the  hair  of  the  head.  Come,  Eva,  let's  go 
down  to  Tullegig's  and  have  a  'kank'  about  costumes.  I 
haven't  a  thing  fit  to  wear,  nor  you  either." 


THE  FATES.  327 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 


THE  FATES. 

JOLTON'S  letter  excited  in  my  mind  a  tumult  of  feel- 
ing. From  the  beginning  of  my  acquaintance  I  had 
regarded  him  with  daily  increasing  admiration. 
Young  men  like  a  species  of  mental  fealty — a  friendship  that 
seems  to  draw  them  upward  and  give  them  an  ideal  of  some- 
thing above  themselves.  Bolton's  ripe,  elegant  scholarship, 
his  ran*,  critical  taste,  his  calm  insight  into  men  and  things, 
and  the  depth  of  his  moral  judgment,  had  u  spired  me  with 
admiration,  and  his  kindness  for  me  with  gratitude.  It 
had  always  been  an  additional  source  of  interest  that  there 
was  something  veiled  about  him— something  that  I  could 
not  exactly  make  out.  This  letter,  so  dignified  in  its  mel- 
ancholy frankness,  seemed  to  let  me  into  the  secret  of  his 
life.  It  showed  me  the  reason  of  that  sort  of  sad  and  weary 
tolerance  with  which  he  seemed  to  regard  life  and  its  in- 
stincts, so  different  from  the  fiery,  forward-looking  hope  of 
youth.  He  had  impressed  me  from  the  first  as  one  \vho 
had  made  up  his  mind  to  endure  all  things  and  hope  for 
nothing.  To  keep  watch  every  moment,  to  do  the  duty  of 
the  hour  thoroughly,  bravely,  faithfully,  as  a  sentinel  paces 
through  wind,  rain  and  cold— neither  asking  why,  nor  utter- 
ing complaints— such  seemed  to  be  Boltou's  theory  of  life. 

The  infirmity  which  he  laid  open  to  my  view  was  one, 
to  be  sure,  attributable  in  the  first  place  to  the  thoughtless 
wrong-doing  of  confident  youth.  Yet,  in  its  beginning,  how 
little  there  was  in  it  that  looked  like  the  deep  and  teirible 
tragedy  to  which  it  was  leading!  Out  of  every  ten  young 
men  who  begin  the  use  of  stimulants  as  a  social  exhilara- 


328  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

tion,  there  are  perhaps  five  in  whose  breast  lies  coiled  up  and 
sleeping  this  serpent,  destined  in  after  years  to  be  tbe  deadly 
tyrant  of  their  life — this  curse,  unappeasable  by  tears  or 
prayers  or  agonies — with  whom  the  struggle  is  like  that  of 
Laocoou  with  the  hideous  Python.  Yet  songs  and  garlands 
and  poetry  encircle  the  wiue-cup,  and  ridicule  aud  cou- 
tiniely  are  reserved  for  him  who  fears  to  touch  if. 

There  was  about  this  letter  such  a  patient  dignity,  such 
an  evident  bracing  of  the  thole  man  to  meet  in  the  bravest 
manlier  the  hard  truth  of  the  situation,  and  surh  a  disin- 
terested care  for  others,  as  were  to  me  inexpressibly  touch- 
iLg.  I  could  not  help  feeling  tha*  he  judged  and  sentenced 
himself  too  severely,  and  that  this  was  a  case  where  a  noble 
woman  might  fitly  co-work  with  a  man,  and  by  doubling 
his  nature  g^ve  it  double  power  of  resistance  and  victory. 

I  went  hastily  up  to  his  room  with  the  letter  in  my  hand 
after  reading  it.  It  was  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening  twi- 
light, but  1  could  see  him  sitting  there  gazing  out  of  the 
window  at  the  fading  sky;  yet  it  was  too  dark  for  either  of 
us  to  see  the  face  of  the  other.  There  are  some  conversa- 
tions that  can  only  be  held  in  dariness  -the  visible  presence 
of  the  bodily  form  is  an  impediment — in  darkness,  spirit 
speaks  directly  to  spirit. 

4<  Bolton,"  I  said,  "  I  am  yours  to  every  intent  and  pur- 
pose, yours  for  life  and  death." 

"  Ami  after?  he  said  in  a  deep  undertone,  grasping 
my  hand.  "  I  knew  you  would  be,  Harry." 

"But,  Bolton,  you  judge  yourself  too  severely.  Why 
should  you  put  from  yourself  the  joys  that  other  men,  not 
half  so  good  as  you,  claim  eagerly  f  If  I  were  a  woman  like 
Caroline,  I  cgn  feel  that  I  would  rather  share  life  with  you, 
in  all  your  dangers  and  liabilities,  than  with  many  another." 

He  thought  a  moment,  and  then  said  slowly,  "It  is 
well  for  Caroline  that  she  has  not  this  feeling;  she  probably 
has  by  this  time  forgotten  me,  and  I  would  not  for  the 
world  take  the  responsibility  of  trying  to  call  back  the 
feeling  she  once  had." 


THE  FATES.  329 

At  this  moment  my  thoughts  wei  t  back  over  many  scenes, 
and  the  real  meaning  of  all  Caroline's  life  came  to  me.  1 
appreciated  the  hardness  ol  that  lot  ol  women  which  con- 
demns thi-iii  to  be  tied  to  one  spot  and  one  course  of  em- 
ployment, when  needing  to  fly  iroin  the  atmosphere  of  an 
unhappy  experience.  I  thought  of  the  blank  stillness  of 
the  little  mountain  town  where  her  life  ha  I  been  passed, 
of  her  restlessness  and  impatit  nee,  of  that  longing  to  fly  to 
new  scenes  and  employments  that  she  had  expressed  to  me 
on  the  eve  of  my  starting  for  Europe  ;  yet  she  had  told 
me  her  story,  leaving  out  the  one  vital  spot  in  it.  1  remem- 
bered her  saying  that  she  had  never  seen  the  man  with 
\vho:n  she  would  think  of  marrisige  without  a  shudder. 
Was  it  because  she  had  forgotten?  Oi  was  it  that  woman 
never  even  to  ht-rse  f  admits  that  thought  in  connection 
wiJi  oiie  who  seems  to  have  forgotten  herU  Or  had  her 
father  so  harshly  painted  the  picture  of  her  lover  that  she 
hud  been  led  to  believe  him  utterly  vile  and  unprincipled  ? 
Perhaps  his  proud  silence  had  been  interpreted  by  her  as  the 
silence  of  indifference  ;  perhaps  she  Ijoked  back  on  their 
acquaii.tance  wiih  indignation  that  she  should  have  been 
employed  merely  to  diversify  the  leisure  of  a  rusticated 
student  and  abandoned  character.  Whatever  the  experi- 
ence might  be,  Caroline  had  carried  it  through  silently. 

Her  gay,  inditlereut,  brilliant  manner  of  treating  any 
approach  to  matters  01  the  heart,  as  if  they  were  the  very 
last  subjects  in  which  she  could  be  supposed  to  have  any 
experience  or  interest,  had  been  a  complete  blind  to  me, 
nor  eould  I,  through  this  dazzling  atmosphere,  form  the 
least  eoi.jecture  as  to  how  the  land  actually  lay. 

In  my  former  letters  to  her  I  had  dwelt  a  good  deal  on 
Bolton,  and  mentioned  the  little  fact  of  finding  her  photo- 
graph in  his  room.  In  reply,,  in  a  postscript  at  the  end  of 
a  letter  about  every  tiling  else,  there  was  a  brief  notice. 
"The  Mr.  Boltjn  you  speak  of  taught  the  Academy  in  our 
place  while  you  were  away  at  college — and  of  course  I 
was  one  of  his  scholars — but  1  have  never  seen  or  heard  of 


330  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

him  since.  I  was  very  young  then,  and  it,  seems  like  some- 
thing in  a  preexistent  state  to  be  reminded  of  him.  I  be- 
lieved him  very  clever,  then,  but  was  not  old  enough  to 
form  much  of  an  opinion."  I  thought  of  all  this  as  I  sat 
silently  in  the  dark  with  Bolton. 

"  Are  you  sure,'1  I  said,  "  that  you  consult  for  Caroline's 
best  happiness  in  doing  as  you  have  done  f 

There  was  a  long  pause,  and  at  last  he  said  with  a  deep, 
drawn  breath, 

"  Yes.    I  am  sure,  the  less  I  am  to  her  the  better." 

"But  may  not  your  silence  and  apparent  neglect  and  in- 
difference have  given  pain?" 

"Probably  ;  but  they  helped  her  to  cease  caring  for  me  ; 
it  was  necessary  that  she  should 

"  Bolton,  you  are  morbid  in  your  estimate  of  yourself." 

"You  do  not  ki.ow  all,  Hal;  nor  what  nor  where  I  have 
been.  I  have  been  swept  far  out  to  sea,  plunged  under 
deep  waters,  all  the  waves  and  billows  have  been  over  ine." 

"  Yet  now,  Bolton,  surely  you  are  on  firm  land.  No  man 
is  more  established,  more  reliable,  more  useful." 

"  Yv  t,"  he  said  with  a  kind  of  shudder,  "  all  this  F  11  i  ;ht 
lose  in  a  moment.  Tne  other  dav  when  I  dined  with 
Westerford,  the  good  fellow  had  his  wines  in  all  frank 
fellowship  and  pressed  them  on  me,  and  the  very  smell 
distracted  me.  I  looked  at  the  little  glas^  in  which  he 
poured  some  particularly  fine  sherry,  and  held  to  me  to 
taste,  and  thought  it  was  like  so  rnu^h  heart's  blood.  If  I 
had  taken  one  taste,  just  one,  I  should  have  been  utterly 
worthless  and  unreliable  foi  weeks.  Yet  Westerford  could 
not  understand  this ;  nobody  can,  except  one  who  has  been 
through  my  bitter  experience.  One  sip  would  flash  to 
the  brain  like  fire,  and  then,  all  fear,  all  care,  all  consciei -cs 
would  be  gone,  and  not  one  glass,  but  a  dozen  w<;ul<i  be 
inevitable,  and  then  you  might  have  to  look  for  me  in  some 
of  tho>e  dens  to  which  the  possessed  of  the  devil  flee  wbeu 
the  fit  is  on  them,  and  where  they  rave  and  tear  and  cut 
themselves  with  stones  till  the  madness  is  worn  out.  Tnis 
has  happened  to  me  over  and  over,  after  long  periods  of 


THE  FATES.  331 

self-denial  and  self-control  ar.d  illusive  hope.  It  seems 
to  nut  that  my  experience  is  like  that  of  si  man  whom 
some  cruel  fiend  c  <iuU'iiut8  to  go  through  all  the  agonies  of 
drown  inc:  over  and  over  again— the  dark  plunge,  the  mad 
struggle,  the  sulfocation,  t;«e  horror  the  agony,  the  clutch 
at  the  shore,  the  weary  clamber  up  steep  rocks;,  the  sense 
of  relief,  recovery,  and  hope,  only  to  be  wrenched  oft'  and 
thrown  back  to  struggle,  and  strangle,  and  sink  again." 

He  spoke  with  such  a  deep  intensity  of  voice  that  1  drew 
in  my  breath,  an  1  a  silence  as  of  the  grave  fell  between  us. 

"  Harrj ,"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  "  you  know  wo  )  ead  in  the 
Greek  tragedies  of  men  and  women  whom  the  gods  have 
sm  tten  with  unnatural  and  guilty  ;urposes.  in  which  they 
were  irresistibly  impelled  toward  what  tuey  abomi  >ated 
aid  shuddered  at!  Is  it  not  strange  that  the  Greek  fable 
should  have  a  real  counterpart  in  the  midst  of  our  mod- 
era  life?  That  young  msn  in  all  the  inexperience  and 
thoughtlessness  of  youth  shoulibe  beguiled  into  just  s.u-li 
a  fatality  ;  that  there  should  be  a  possibility  that  they 
could  be  blighted  by  just  such  a  doom,  and  yet  that  song, 
and  poetry,  and  social  illusion,  and  society  customs  should 
all  be  thrown  around  courses  which  excite  and  develop 
this  fatality !  What  opera  is  complete  without  its  drinking 
chorus?  I  remember  when  it  used  to  be  my  forte  to  sing 
drinking  songs;  so  the  world  goes!  Men  triumph  and 
rejoice  going  to  a  doom  to  which  death  is  a  trifle.  If  I  had 
fallen  dead,  the  first  glass  of  wine  I  tasted,  it  would  have 
been  thought  a  horrible  thing;  but  it  would  have  been 
better  for  my  mother,  better  for  me,  than  to  have  lived  as  I 
did." 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  Bolton !  don't  say  so  :  you  become  morbid  in 
dwelling  on  this  subject." 

"  No,  Hal.  I  only  know  more  of  it  than  you.  This  curse 
ha>  made  lift*  an  unspeakable  burden,  a  doom  instead  of  a 
piiv  il<  g.'.  It  has  disapointed  my  fri  -nds,  and  subjected  i^e 
to  humiliations  and  agonies  such  that  death  seems  to  me  a 
refuge ;  and  yet  it  was  all  in  its  beginning  mere  thought- 
lessness and  ignorance.  I  was  lost  before  1  knew  it." 


332  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

"  But  you  are  not  lost,  and  you  shall  not  be !"  I  exclaimed, 
"you  are  good  for  more  than  most  men  uow,  and  you  will 
come  through  this  r 

*'  Xev^r  !  to  be  just  as  others  are.  I  shall  be  a  vessel 
with  a  crack  in  it,  always." 

"  Well,  a  vase  of  fine  porcelain  with  a  crack  in  it  is  better 
than  earthenware  without,"  I  said. 

"  If  I  h.id  not  disappointed  myself  and  my  friends  so 
often,"  said  Bolton,  "  I  might  look  on  myself  as  sound  and 
sane.  But  the  mere  sight  and  smell  of  the  wine  at  WVsler- 
fortl's  dinner  gave  me  a  giddy  sensation  that  alarmed  me  ; 
it  showed  that  I  was  not  yet  out  of  danger,  and  it  made  n  e 
resolve  to  strengthen  myself  by  maki.ig  you  my  keeper. 
You  have  the  advantage  of  perfectly  healthy  nerves  that 
have  come  to  manhood  without  the  strain  of  any  false  stim- 
ulus, and  you  can  be  strong  for  both  of  us." 

"  God  grant  it  !r  said  I,  earnestly. 

"But  1  warn  you  that,  if  the  cur-e  somes  upon  me  you  are 
not  to  trust  me.  I  am  a  Christian  and  a  jfian  of  honor  in  my 
sane  n  oments,  but  let  me  tell  you  one  glass  of  wine  would 
make  me  a  liar  on  this  subject.  I  should  he,  and  intrigue, 
and  dt/ceive  the  very  elect,  to  get  at  the  miserable  comple- 
tion of  the  aroused  fury,  and  there  are  times  when  I  am 
BO  excited  that  I  fear  I  may  take  that  first  irrevocable  step ; 
it  is  a  horror,  a  nightmare,  a  temptation  of  the  devi»,— for 
that  there  is  a  devil,  men  with  my  experience  know;  but 
there  is  a  kind  of  safety  in  having:  a  friend  of  a  steady 
pulse  with  IAG  who  knows  all.  The  mere  fact  that  you 
do  know  helps  hold  me  firm." 

"Bolton,"  said  I,  'the  situation  you  offer  to  Caroline 
in  the  care  of  the  Ladles'  Cabinet  will  of  course  oblige 
her  to  come  to  New  York.  Shall  you  meet  her  and  renew 
your  acquaintance?" 

'*  1  do  not  desire  to,"  lie  snid. 

There  was  a  slight  hesitancy  and  faltering  of  his  voice 
as  he  spoke. 

"  Yet  it  can  hardly  be  possible  that  you  will  not  meet; 
you  will  have  arrangements  to  make  with  her." 


THE  FATES.  333 

"That  is  one  of  the  uses,  among  others,  of  having 
you.  All  that  relates  to  her  affairs  will  pass  tin oiifrli  you; 
ami  now,  let  us  talk  of  the  magazine  and  its  programme 
for  the  season.  What  is  the  reason,  Hal,  that  you  waste 
your  forces  in  short  sketches  ?  Why  do  you  not  boldly  d  ish 
out  into  a  serial  story  ?  Come,  now,  I  am  resolved  among 
other  things  on  a  serial  story  by  Harry  Henderson." 

"And  I  will  recommend  a  taking  tide,"  cried  Jim  Fellows, 
who  came  in  as  we  were  talking,  and  stood  behind  my 
chair.  "Let  us  have 

HENDERSONS  HORROR,-    or,   The  Mystery 
of  the  Bloody  Latch-Key. 

TJicrc's  a  title  to  take  with  the  reflecting  public!  The 
readers  of  serials  are  /enerally  girls  from  twelve  to  twenty, 
and  they  read  them  with  their  back-hair  down,  lounging  on 
the  bed,  just  betore  a  nap  alter  dinner,  and  there  must  be 
enough  blood  and  thunder,  and  murder  and  adultery  and 
mystery  in  them  to  keep  the  dear  creatures  reading  at  least 
half  an  hour/' 

"  1  think  serial  stories  are  about  played  out  in  our  day," 
said  I. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  There's  sister  Nell,  doi'tread  anything 
else.  She  is  regularly  running  on  five  serial  stories,  and 
among  them  all  they  keep  her  nicely  a-going ;  and  she  tells 
me  that  the  case  is  the  same  with  all  the  girls  in  her  set. 
The  knowledge  of  the  world  and  of  human  nature  that  the 
pretty  creatures  get  in  this  way  is  something  quite  astound- 
ing. Nell  is  at  present  deeply  interested  in  a  fair  lady  who 
connives  with  her  chambermaid  to  pass  off  her  illegitimate 
child  upon  her  husband  as  his  own  ;  and  we  have  lying  and 
false  swearing,  1  say  nothing  of  all  other  kinds  of  interest- 
ing things  on  every  page.  Of  course  this  is  written  as  a 
moral  lesson,  and  interspersed  with  pious  reflections  to 
teach  girls  as  how  they  hadn't  oughter  do  so  and  so.  All 
this,  you  see,  has  a  refining  eJect  upon  the  rising  gener- 
ation." 


334  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

"  But,  really,  Bolton,  don't  you  think  that  it  is  treating 
our  modern  society  as  children,  to  fall  in  with  tiiis  extreme 
fashion  of  story-telling  ?  It  seems  so  childish  to  need  pic- 
tures and  stories  for  everything.  Isn't  your  magazine 
strong  enough  to  lead  and  form  public  taste  instead  of 
following  it  ?" 

"  Well,  if  I  owned  my  magazine  I  would  try  it,"  said  Bol- 
ton. "  But,  you  see,  the  Westerfords,  while  they  give  me 
carte  blanche  as  to  means  to  run  it,  expect  of  course  that  it 
is  to  be  run  in  the  approved  popular  grooves  that  the  dear 
thoughtless  ten  million  prefer.  The  people  who  lounge  on 
beds  after  dinner  are  our  audience,  and  there  must  be  noth- 
ing wiser  nor  stronger  than  they  can  appreneud  between 
sleeping  and  waking.  We  talk  to  a  blase,  hurried,  anre- 
fleciiug,  indolent  generation,  who  want  emotion  and  don't 
care  for  reason.  Something  sharp  and  spicy,  something 
pungent  and  stinging — no  matter  what  or  whence.  And 
now  as  they  want  this  sort  of  thing,  why  not  give  it  to 
them  ?  Are  there  no  other  condiments  for  seasoning  sto- 
ries besides  intriguer,  lies,  murders,  and  adulteries  ?  And 
it  the  young  and  unreflecting  will  read  stoiies  shouldn't 
some  of  the  thoughtful  and  reflecting  make  stories  for 
them  to  read  f " 

"Of  course  they  should,  Q.  E.  D.,"  said  Jim  Fellows, 
touching  the  gas  with  a  match,  and  sending  a  flare  of  light 
upon  our  conference.  "But  come,  now,  behold  the  last  nov- 
elty of  the  seaso.i,"  said  he,  tossing  two  cards  of  invitation. 
"This  is  for  us,  as  sons  of  the  press  and  recording  angels, 
to  be  present  at  Wat  Sydney's  grand  blow-out  next  Tues- 
day. All  the  rank  and  fashion  are  to  go.  It  is  to  be  very- 
select,  and  there  are  people  who  would  give  their  eye-teeth 
for  the»e  cards,  and  can't  get  'em.  How  do  ye  say,  Old  Man 
of  the  Mountain,  will  you  go?" 

"  No,"  said  Bolton ;  "not  my  line." 

"  Well,  at  all  events,  Hal  has  got  to  go.  I  promised  t*>e 
fair  Alice  that  I'd  bring  him  if  I  had  to  take  him  by  the 
hair." 


THE  FATES.  335 

I  had  «i  great  mind  to  decline.  I  thought  in  my  heart  it 
was  not  at  all  the  wisest  thing  for  me  to  go  ;  but  then, 
Amare  ct  sapere  vix  Deo — I  had  never  seen  Sydney,  and  I 
had  a  restless  desire  to  see  him  and  Eva  together — and  I 
thought  of  forty  good  reasons  why  I  should  go. 


336  MY  WIFE  AND  1, 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 


THE  GAME   OF  CROQUET. 

]OW  I  advise  all  serious,  sensible  individuals  who 
never  intend  to  do  anything  that  is  not  exactly  most 
reasonable  and  most  prudent,  and  who  always  do 
exactly  as  they  intend,  not  to  follow  my  steps  on  the 
present  occasion,  for  I  am  going  to  do  exactly  what  is  not 
to  be  recommended  to  young  gentlemen  in  my  situation, 
and  certainly  what  is  not  at  all  prudent. 

For  if  a  young  man  finds  himself  without  recall,  hope- 
lessly in  love  with  one  whose  smiles  are  all  for  another, 
his  best  way  is  to  keep  out  of  her  society,  and  in  a  course 
of  engrossing  business  that  will  leave  him  as  little  time 
to  think  of  her  as  possible. 

1  had  every  advantage  for  pursuing  this  course,  for  I  had 
a  press  of  writing  upon  me,  finishing  up  a  batch  of  literary 
job-work  which  I  wished  to  get  fairly  out  of  the  way  so  that 
I  might  give  my  whole  energies  to  Bolton  in  our  new  enter- 
prise. In  fact,  to  go  off  philandering  to  a  croquet  party  up 
the  North  River  was  a  sheer  piece  of  childish  folly,  and 
the  only  earthly  reason  I  could  really  give  for  it  was  the 
presence  of  a  woman  there  that  I  had  resolved  to  avoid. 
In  fact  I  felt  that  the  thing  was  so  altogether  silly  that 
I  pretended  to  myself  that  I  was  inipregnably  resolved 
against  it,  and  sat  myself  down  in  Bolton's  room  making 
abstracts  from  some  of  his  books,  knowing  all  the  while 
that  Jim  would  seek  me  out  there  and  have  his  moral 
fish-hook  last  in  my  coat  collar,  as  in  truth  he  did. 


TBE  GAME  OF  CROQUET.  337 

*'  Come,  come,  Hal,"  he  said,  bursting  in,  "  I  promised  the 
divincst  of  her  sex  to  bring  you  along.'7 

"Oh  nonsense,  Jim!  it's  out  of  the  question,"  said  I.  "I've 
got  to  get  this  article  done." 

"nli.  you  be  handed  with  your  article,  come  along! 
What's  the  use  of  a  fellow's  shutting  himself  up  with 
hooks?  I  tell  you,  Hal,  if  you're  going  to  write  for  folks 
you  must  sec  folks  and  folks  must  see  you,  and  you  must 
be  around  und  into  and  a  part  of  all  that's  going  on.  Como 
on  !  Why,  you  don't  know  the  honor  done  you.  Its  a 
tip-top  select  party,  and  all  the  handsomest  girls  and  all 
the  nobby  fellows  will  be  there,  and  no  end  of  fun.  Syd- 
ney's place  alone  is  worth  going  to  see.  Its  the  crack 
place  on  the  river;  and  then  they  say  the  engagement  is 
going  to  be  declared,  and  everybody  is  wild  to  know 
whether  it  is  or  isn't  to  be,  and  the  girls  are  furbishing 
up  fancy  suits  to  croquet  in.  Miss  Alice  treated  me  to 
a  glimpse  of  hers  as  I  met  her  on  Tullegig's  steps,  and 
its  calculated  to  drive  a  fellow  crazy,  and  so  come  now," 
said  Jim,  pulling  away  my  papers  and  laying  hold  of  me, 
"  lot's  go  out  and  get  some  gloves  and.  proceed  to  make 
ourselves  up.  We  have  the  press  to  represent,  and  we 
must  be  nobby,  so  hang  expense !  here's  for  Jouvin's  best, 
and  let  to-morrow  take  care  of  itself." 

Now,  seconding  ail  these  temptations  was  that  perverse 
inclination  that  makes  every  man  want  to  see  a  little 
more  and  taste  a  little  more  of  what  he  has  had  too 
much  already.  Moreover  I  wanted  to  see  Eva  and  Wat 
Sydney  tj.-erher.  I  wanted  to  be  certain  and  satisfy  my- 
self with  my  own  eyes,  not  only  that  they  were  engaged 
but  that  she  was  in  love  with  him.  If  she  be,  said  I  to 
myself,  she  is  certainly  an  exquisite  coquette  and  a  dan- 
gerous woman  for  me  to  keep  up  an  acquaintance  with. 

In  thinking  over  as  1  had  done  since  Mrs.  Van  Arsdel's 
motherly  conversation,  all  our  intercourse  and  acquaint- 
ance with  each  other,  her  conduct  sometimes  seemed  to 
mo  to  be  that  of  a  veritable  "  Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere," 


338  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

bent  on  amusing  herself,  and  diversifying  the  tedium  of 
fashionable  life  by  exciting  feelings  which  she  had  no 
thought  of  returning.  When  I  took  this  view  of  matters 
I  felt  angry  and  contemptuous  and  resolved  to  show  the 
fair  lady  that  1  could  be  as  indifferent  as  she.  Some- 
times I  made  myself  supremely  wretched  bj  supposing 
that  it  was  by  her  desire  that  Mrs.  Van  Arsdel  had  held 
the  conveisation  with  me,  and  that  it  was  a  sort  of  in- 
timation tbat  she  had  perceived  my  feelings,  and  resolved 
to  put  a  decided  check  upon  them.  But  of  course  noth- 
ing so  straightforward  and  sensible  as  going  to  her  for 
an  explanation  of  all  this  was  to  be  thought  of,  In  fact 
our  intercourse  with  one  another  ever  since  the  memor- 
able occasion  I  refer  to  had  been  daily  lessening,  and 
now  was  generally  limited  to  passing  the  most  ordinary 
common-places  with  each  other.  She  had  grown  cold  and 
dry,  almost  haughty,  and  I  was  conscious  of  a  most  un- 
natural rigidity  and  constrai  t.  It  seemed  to  me  some- 
times astonishing  when  I  looked  back  a  little,  to  reflect 
how  perfectly  easy  and  free  and  unconstrained  we  always 
had  been  up  to  a  certain  point,  to  find  that  now  we  met 
with  so  little  enjoyment,  talked  and  fcaid  so  little  to  any 
purpose.  It  was  as  if  some  evil  enchanter  had  touched 
us  with  his  wand  stiffening  every  nerve  of  pleasure.  To 
look  forward  to  meeting  her  in  society  was  no  longer,  as 
it  had  been,  to  look  forward  to  delightful  hours ;  and  yet 
for  the  life  of  me  I  could  not  help  going  where  this  most 
unsatisfactory,  tantalizing  intercourse  was  all  I  had  to  hope 
for. 

But  to-day,  I  said  to  myself,  I  would  grasp  the  thorns 
of  the  situation  so  firmly  as  to  break  them  down  and 
take  a  firm  hold  on  reality.  If,  indeed,  her  engagement 
were  to-day  to  be  declared,  I  would  face  the  music  like 
a  man,  walk  up  to  her  and  present  my  congratulations  in 
due  form,  and  then  the  acquaintance  would  make  a  gallant 
finale  in  the  glare  of  wedding  lamps  and  the  fanfaronade 
of  wedding  festivities,  and  away  to  fresh  fields  and  past- 
ures new. 


THE  GAME  OF  CROQUET.  339 

In  short,  whatever  a  man  is  secretly  inclined  to  do  there 
arc  always  a  hundred  sensible  incontrovertible  reasons  to 
be  found  for  doing,  and  so  I  found  myself  one  of  the 
gay  and  festive  throng  on  board  the  steamer.  A  party 
of  well-dressed  people  floating  up  the  North  .River  of  a 
bright  Spring  day  is  about  as  ideal  a  picture  of  travel  as 
can  be  desired.  In  point  of  natural  scenery  the  Rhine  is 
nothing  compared  with  the  Hudson,  and  our  American 
steamboats  certainly  are  as  far  ahead  of  any  that  ever 
appeared  on  the  Rhine  as  Aladdin's  palace  is  ahead  of  an 
ordinary  dwelling.  The  most  superb  boat  on  the  river  had 
been  retained  for  the  occasion,  and  a  band  of  music  added 
liveliness  to  the  scene  as  we  moved  off  from  the  wharf 
in  triumph,  as  gay,  glittering,  festive  a  company  as  heart 
could  wish. 

Wat  Sydney  as  host  and  entertainer  was  everywhere 
present,  making  himself  agreeable  by  the  most  devoted 
attentions  to  the  comfort  of  the  bright  band  of  tropical 
birds,  fluttering  in  silks  and  feathers  and  ribbons,  whom 
he  had  charge  of  for  the  day.  I  was  presented  to  him 
by  Jim'  Fellows,  and  had  an  opportunity  to  see  that  apart 
from  his  immense  wealth  he  had  no  very  striking  personal 
points  to  distinguish  him  from  a  hundred  other  young  men 
about  him.  His  dress  was  scrupulously  adjusted,  with  a 
care  and  nicety  which  showed  that  he  was  by  no  means 
without  consideration  of  the  personal  impression  he  made. 
Every  article  was  the  choicest  and  best  that  the  most  or- 
thodox fashionable  emporiums  pronounced  the  latest  thing, 
or  as  .Jim  Fellows  phrased  it,  decidedly  "nobby."  He  was 
ot  a  medium  height,  with  very  light  hair  and  eyes,  and 
the  thin  complexion  which  usually  attends  that  style,  and 
which,  under  the  kind  of  exposure  incident  to  a  man's 
life,  generally  tends  to  too  much  redness  of  face. 

Altogether,  my  first  running  commentary  on  the  man 
as  I  shook  hands  with  him  was,  that  if  Eva  were  in  love 
with  him  it  was  not  for  his  beauty  ;  yet  I  could  see  glances 
falling  on  him  on  all  sides  from  undeniably  handsome 


340  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

eyes  that  would  have  excused  any  man  for  having  a  favor- 
able conceit  of  his  own  personal  presence. 

Mr.  Sydney  was  well  accustomed  to  being  the  cynosure 
of  female  eyes,  and  walked  the  deck  with  the  assured 
step  of  a  man  certain  of  pleasing.  A  rich  good-humored 
young  man  who  manifests  himself  daily  in  splendid  turn- 
outs, who  rains  down  flowers  and  confectionery  among 
his  feminine  acquaintances,  and  sends  diamonds  and  pearls 
as  philopO3na  presents,  certainly  does  not  need  a  romantic 
style  of  beauty  or  any  particular  degree  of  mental  culture 
to  make  his  society  more  than  acceptable.  Prudent  mam- 
mas were  generally  of  opinion  that  the  height  of  felicity 
for  a  daughter  would  be  the  position  that  should  enable 
her  to  be  the  mistress  and  dictatrix  of  his"  ample  fortune. 
Mr.  Sydney  was  perfectly  well  aware  of  this  state  of  things. 
He  was  a  man  a  little  blase  with  ths  kind  attentions  of 
matrons,  and  tolerably  secure  of  the  good-will  of  very 
charming  young  ladies.  He  had  the  prestige  of  success, 
and  had  generally  carried  his  points  in  the  world  of  men 
and  things.  Miss  Eva  Van  Arstkl  had  been  the  first  young 
lady  who  had  given  him  the  novel  sensation  of  a  repulse, 
and  thenceforth  became  an  object  of  absorbing  interest 
in  his  eyes.  Under  the  careless  good-humor  of  his  gen- 
eral appearance  Sydney  had  a  constitutional  pertinacity,  a 
persistence  in  his  own  way  that  had  been  a  source  of  many 
of  his  brilliant  successes  in  business.  He  was  one  of  those 
whom  obstacles  and  difficulties  only  stimulate,  and  whose 
tenacity  of  purpose  increases  with  resistance.  He  was 
cautious,  sagacious,  ready  to  wait  and  watch  and  renew 
the  attack  at  intervals,  but  never  to  give  up.  To  succeed 
was  a  tribute  to  his  own  self-esteem,  and  whatever  was 
difficult  of  attainment  was  the  more  valuable. 

A  little  observation  during  the  course  of  the  first  hour 
convinced  me  that  there  was  as  yet  no  announcement  of 
an  engagement.  Mrs.  Van  Arsdel  and  Aunt  Maria  Wouver- 
mans,  to  be  sure,  were  on  most  balmy  and  confidential 
terms  with  Mr.  Sydney,  addressing  him  with  every  ap- 


THE  GAME  OF  CROQUET.  341 

pearance  of  mysterious  intimacy,  and  quite  willing  to  pro- 
duce the  impression  that  the  whole  fete  was  in  some 
manner  a  tribute  to  the  family,  but  these  appearances 
were  not  carritd  out  by  any  cooperative  movements  on 
tin-  part  of  Eva  herself.  She  appeared  radiant  in  a  fanci- 
ful blue  croquet  suit  which  threw  out  to  advantage  the 
golden  shade  of  her  hair,  and  the  pink  sea-shell  delicacy 
of  her  cheek,  and  as  usual  she  had  her  court  around  her 
and  was  managing  her  circle  with  the  address  of  a  practiced 
habituee  of  society. 

"  Favoi  s  to  none,  to  all,  she  smiles  extends, 
Oi't  she  rejects,  but  never  once  offends. 
Bright  as  the  sun,  her  beams  the  gazers  strike, 
And  like  the  sun,  they  smile  on  all  alike." 

Unlike  many  of  her  sex,  Eva  had  the  faculty  of  carrying 
the  full  cup  of  bellehood  without  spilling  an  unseemly  drop, 
and  as  she  was  one  of  those  who  seem  to  have  quits  as 
much  gift  in  charming  her  feminine  as  her  masculine  ac- 
quaintances, she  generally  sat  surrounded  by  an  admiring 
body-guard  of  girls  who  laughed  at  her  jests  and  echoed 
her  bon  mots  and  kept  up  a  sort  of  radiant  atmosphere 
of  life  and  motion  and  gayety  around  her.  Her  constitu- 
tional good-nature,  her  readiness  to  admire  other  people, 
and  to  help  each  in  due  season  to  some  small  portion  of 
the  applause  and  admiration  which  is  lying  about  loose 
for  general  circulation  in  society,  all  contributed  to  her 
popularity.  As  I  approached  the  circle  they  were  discus- 
sing with  great  animation  the  preliminaries  of  a  match 
game  of  croquet  that  was  proposed  to  be  played  at  Clair- 
mont  to-day. 

"  Oh,  here  conies  Mr.  Henderson !  let's  ask  him,"  she  said, 
as  I  approached  the  circle. 

"Don't  you  think  it  will  be  a  nice  thing?"  she  said. 
"Mr.  Sydney  has  arranged  that  after  playing  the  first 
games  as  a  trial  the  four  best  players  shall  be  elected  to 
play  a  match  game,  two  on  each  side." 

"I  think  it  will  vary  the  usual  monotony  of  croquet," 
said  I. 


342  MY  WIFE  AND  L 

"  Hear  him,"  she  said,  gaily,  "  talk  of  the  usual  monotony 
of  croquet !  For  my  part  I  think  there  is  a  constant  variety 
to  it,  no  two  games  are  ever  alike." 

"  To  me,"  I  said,  "  it  seems  that  after  a  certain  amount 
of  practice  the  result  is  likely  to  be  the  same  thing,  game 
after  game." 

"  Girls,"  she  said,  "  I  perceive  that  Mr.  Henderson  is  used 
to  carrying  all  before  him.  He  is  probably  a  champion 
player  who  will  walk  through  all  the  wickets  as  a  matter 
of  course." 

"  Not  at  all,"  I  said.  "  On  the  contrary  I  shouldn't  wonder 
if  I  should  '  booby'  hopelessly  at  the  very  first  wicket." 

"And  none  the  worse  for  that,"  said  Sydney.  "I've 
boobied  three  times  running,  in  the  first  of  a  game,  and 
yet  beaten;  it  gets  one's  blood  up,  and  one  will  beat." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Miss  Alice,  "  the  more  my  blood  is 
up  the  less  I  can  do ;  if  I  get  excited  I  lose  my  aim,  my 
hand  trembles,  and  I  miss  the  very  simplest  move." 

"  I  think  there  is  nothing  varies  so  much  as  one's  luck 
in  croquet,"  said  Eva.  "  Sometimes  for  weeks  together  I 
am  sure  to  hit  every  aim  and  to  carry  every  wicket,  and 
then  all  of  a  sudden,  without  rhyme  or  reason,  I  make 
the  most  absurd  failures,  and  generally  when  I  pique  my- 
self on  success." 

"  I  think,  Miss  Eva,  I  remember  you  as  the  best  player  in 
Newport  last  Summer,"  said  Mr.  Sydney. 

"And  likely  as  not  I  shall  fail  ingloriously  to-day," 
said  she. 

"  Well,  we  shall  all  have  a  time  for  bringing  our  hands 
in,"  said  Mr.  Sydney.  "I  have  arranged  four  croquet 
grounds,  and  the  fifth  one  is  laid  out  for  the  trial  game 
with  longer  intervals  and  special  difficulties  in  the  arrange- 
ment, to  make  it  as  exciting  as  possible.  The  victorious 
side  is  to  have  a  prize." 

"  Oh,  how  splendid  !  What  is  the  prize  to  be  *?  was  the 
general  exclnmation." 

"  Behold,  then !"  said  Mr.  Sydney,  drawing  from  his  pocket 


THE  GAME  OF  CROQUET.  343 

a  velvet  case  which  when  opened  displayed  a  tiny  croquet 
mallet  wrought  in  gold  and  set  as  a  lady's  pin.  Depend- 
ing Irom  it  by  four  gold  chains  were  four  little  balls  of 
emerald,  ruby,  amethyst,  and  topaz. 

"llovs  perfectly  lovely!  how  divine!  how  beautiful!" 
were  the  sounds  that  arose  from  the  brilliant  little  circle 
that  were  in  a  moment  precipitated  upon  the  treasure. 

"  You  will  really  set  them  all  by  the  ears,  Mr.  Sydney," 
said  Mrs.  Van  Arsdel.  "Croquet  of  itself  is  exciting 
enough;  one  is  apt  to  lose  one's  temper." 

"  You  ought  to  see  mamma  and  Mr^.  Van  Duzen  and  Aunt 
Maria  play,"  said  Eva,  "if  you  want  to  see  an  edifying 
game,  it's  too  funny.  They  are  all  so  polite  and  so  dread 
fully  courtly  and  grieved  to  do  anything  disagreeable  to 
each  other,  and  you  know  croquet  is  such  a  perfectly 
selfish,  savage,  unchristian  game ;  so  when  poor  Mrs.  Van 
Duzen  is  told  that  she  ought  to  croquet  mamma's  ball 
away  from  the  wicket,  the  dear  lady,  is  quite  ready  to 
cry  and  declares  that  it  would  be  such  a  pity  to  disap- 
point her,  that  she  croquets  her  through  her  wicket,  and 
looks  round  apologizing  for  her  virtues  with  such  a  piti- 
ful face!  'Indeed,  my  dear,  I  couldn''t  help  it!"1 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Arsdel,  "  I  really  think  it  is  too 
bad  when  a  poor  body  has  been  battering  and  laboring 
at  a  difficult  wicket  to  be  croqueted  back  a  dozen  times." 

"  It's  meant  for  the  culture  of  Christian  patience,  mam- 
ma," said  Eva.  "Croquet  is  the  game  of  life,  you  see." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Sydney,  rubbing  his  hands,  "  and 
it  teaches  you  just  how  to  manage,  use  your  friends  to 
help  yourself  along,  and  then  croquet  them  into  good 
positions;  use  your  enemies  as  long  as  you  want  them, 
and  then  send  them  to  ." 

"  The  devil,"  said  Jiui  Fellows,  who  never  hesitated  to 
fill  up  an  emphatic  blank  in  the  conversation. 

"I  didn't  say  that,"  said  Mr.  Sydney. 

*'  But  you  meant  it,  all  the  same ;  and  that's  the  long 
and  the  short  of  the  philosophy  of  the  game  of  life," 
said  Jim. 


344  MT  WIFE  AND  I. 

"  And"  said  I,  "  one  may  read  all  sorts  of  life-histories 
in  the  game.  Some  go  on  with  a  steady  aim  and  true 
stroke,  and  make  wickets,  and  Lit  balls,  yet  are  croqueted 
back  ingloriously  or  hopelessly  wired  and  lose  the  game, 
while  others  blunder  advantageously  and  are  croqueted 
along  by  skillful  partners  into  all  the  best  places." 

"  There  are  few  of  us  girls  that  make  our  own  wickets 
in  life,"  said  Eva.  "We  are  all  croqueted  along  by  papas 
and  mammas." 

"And  many  a  man  is  croqueted  along  by  a  smart 
wife,"  said  Sydney. 

"  But  more  women  by  smart  husbands,"  said  Mrs.  Van 
Arsdel. 

On  that  there  was  a  general  exclamation,  and  the  con- 
versation forthwith  whisked  into  one  of  those  animated 
whirlwinds  that  always  arise  when  the  comparative  merits 
of  the  sexes  are  moved.  There  was  a  flutter  of  ribbons 
and  a  rustle  of  fans  and  a  laughing  cross-fire  of  sharp 
sayings,  till  the  whole  was  broken  up  by  the  announce- 
ment that  we  were  drawing  near  the  landing. 


THE  MA  TCH  GAME.  345 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

THE  MATCH  GAME. 

HE  lawn  at  Clairmont  made  a  brilliant  spectacle,  all 
laid  out  with  different  croquet  sets.  The  turf  was 
like  velvet,  andadjoiningevery  ground  wasa  pretty 
tent,  with  seatsand every  commodlousprovision  for  repairing 
at  once  any  temporary  derangement  of  the  feminine  toilet. 
The  fluttering  of  gay  flags  and  pennons  from  these  various 
tents  gave  an  airy  and  breezy  look  to  the  scene,  and  imme- 
diately we  formed  ourselves  into  sets,  and  the  games  began. 
It  had  been  arranged  that  the  preliminary  playing  should 
take  place  immediately,  and  the  match  game  be  reserved 
till  after  lunch.  The  various  fancy  costumes  of  the  players, 
lit  up  by  the  bright  sunshine,  and  contrasted  with  the 
emerald  green  of  the  lawn,  formed  a  brilliant  and  animated 
picture,  watched  with  interest  by  groups  of  non-combatants 
from  rustic  seats  under  the  trees.  Of  course  everybody  was 
a  little  nervous  in  the  trial  games,  and  there  was  the  usual 
amount  of  ill  luck,  and  of  "Ohs  and  Ahs"  of  success  or 
failure.  I  made  myself  a  "booby"  twice,  in  that  unac- 
countable way  that  seems  like  fatality.  Then  suddenly,  fa- 
vored of  the  fates,  made  two  wickets  at  once,  seized  an  an- 
tagonist's ball,  and  went  with  it  at  one  heat  through  the  side 
wicket,* the  middle  aucl  other  side  wicket  up  to  the  stake  and 
down  again,  through  the  middle  wicket  to  the  stake  again, 
and  then  struck  back  a  glorious  rover  to  }oin  my  partner. 
It  was  one  of  those  prodigiously  lucky  runs,  when  one's  ball 
goes  exactly  where  it  is  intended,  and  stops  exactly  in  the 
right  place,  and  though  it  was  mostly  owing  to  good  luck, 
with  the  usual  prestige  of  success  1  was  covered  with  glory 


346  311"  WIFE  AND  I. 

and  congratulations,  and  my  partner,  Miss  Sophie  Elmore, 
herself  a  champion  at  croquet,  was  pleased  to  express  most 
unbounded  admiration,  especially  as  our  side  came  out 
decidedly  victorious. 

Miss  Sophie,  a  neat  little  vigorous  brunette,  in  a  ravishing 
fancy  croquet- suit,  entered  into  the  game  with  all  that 
whole-hearted  ardor  which  makes  women  such  terrible 
combatants. 

"Oh,  I  do  hope  that  we  shall  be  in  at  that  final  match- 
game  !"  she  said,  with  a  charming  abandon  of  manner.  "  I 
should  so  like  to  beat  Eva  Van  Arsdel.  Those  Van  Arsdels 
always  expect  to  carry  all  before  them,  and  it  rather  pro- 
vokes me,  I  confess.  Now,  with  you  to  help  me,  Mr.  Hen- 
derson, I  am  sure  we  could  beal." 

"  Don't  put  too  much  faith  in  my  accidental  run  of  luck," 
I  said ;  " '  one  swallow  does  not  make  a  summer.'" 

"  Oh,  I'm  quite  sure  by  the  way  you  managed  your  game 
that  it  wasn't  luck.  But  you  see  I  want  to  try  with  Eva  Van 
Arsdel  again,  for  she  and  I  were  held  to  be  the  best  players 
at  Newport  last  summer,  and  she  beat  in  the  last  '  rubber ' 
we  played.  It  was  so  provoking— just  one  slip  of  the  mallet 
that  ruined  me !  You  know,  sometimes,  how  your  mallet 
will  turn  in  your  hands.  She  made  just  such  a  slip  and  took 
the  stroke  over  again.  Now  that  is  what  I  never  will  do, 
you  see,"  &c.,  &c. 

In  short,  I  could  see  that  for  pretty  Miss  Sophie,  at  present, 
croquet  was  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  the  whole  game  of 
life,  that  every  spangle  and  every  hair-pin  about  her  were 
vital  with  excitement  to  win. 

After  lunch  came  the  ballot  for  the  combatants  who  Were 
to  play  the  deciding  game,  and  the  parties  elected  were : 
Miss  Sophie  Elmore,  Miss  Eva  Van  Arsdel,  Mr.  Sydney,  and 
myself. 

"Miss  Van  Arsdel,"  said  Mr.  Sydney,  "you  must  be  my 
captain.  After  the  feats  that  you  and  Mr.  Henderson  have 
been  performing  it  would  be  impossible  to  allow  you  both 
on  one  side." 


THE  MATCH  GAME.  347 

"  I  think  just  as  likely  us  not  you  will  be  worsted  for  your 
pains''  said  Eva.  "I  know  Sophie  of  old  for  a  terrible 
antagonist,  and  when  she  pulls  on  her  croquet-gloves  like 
that,  it  means  war  to  the  knife,  and  no  quarter.  So,  my 
dear,  be-in  the  tournament." 

The  wickets  were  arranged  at  extra  distances  upon  this 
trial  ground,  and  it  was  hardly  prudent  to  attempt  making 
two  wickets  at  once,  but  Miss  Sophie  played  in  the  adven- 
turous style,  and  sent  her  ball  with  a  vigorous  tap  not  only 
through  both  the  first  wickets,  but  so  far  ahead  that  it  was 
entangled  in  the  wires  of  the  middle  wicket,  in  a  way  that 
made  it  impossible  to  give  it  a  fair  stroke. 

'•  Now,  how  vexatious !"  she  cried. 

"  I  have  two  extra  strokes  for  my  two  wickets,  but  I  shall 
make  nothing  by  it."  In  fact,  Miss  Sophie,  with  two  nervous 
hits,  succeeded  only  in  placing  her  ball  exactly  where  with 
t'.-iir  luck  the  next  player  must  be  sure  to  get  it. 

Eva  now  came  through  the  two  first  wickets,  one  at  a  time, 
and  with  a  well-directed  tap  took  possession  of  Miss  Sophie, 
who  groaned  audibly,  "Oh,  now  she's  got  me  !  well,  there's 
no  saying  now  where  she'll  stop." 

In  fact,  Miss  Eva  performed  very  skillfully  the  role  of  the 
"cat  who  doth  play,  and  after— slay.*'  She  was  perfect 
mistress  of  the  tactics  of  split-shots,  which  seat  her  ant  a  - 
onist?s  ball  one  side  the  wicket  and  hers  the  other,  and  all 
the  other  mysteries  of  the  craft,  and  she  used  them  well, 
till  she  had  been  up  and  hit  the  stake  and  come  down  to 
the  middle  wicket,  when  her  luck  failed. 

Then  came  my  turn,  and  I  came  through  the  first  two 
wickets,  struck  her  ball  and  used  it  for  the  two  next  wick- 
ets, till  I  came  near  my  partner,  when  with  a  prosperous 
split -shot  I  sent  her  off  to  distant  regions,  struck  my  part- 
ner's ball,  put  it  throng! i  its  wicket,  and  came  and  stationed 
myself  within  its  reach  for  future  use. 

Then  came  Mr.  Sydney  with  a  vigorous  succession  of  hits, 
and  knocked  us  apart ;  sent  one  to  one  side  of  the  ground, 
and  one  to  the  other,  and  went  gallantly  up  to  his  partner. 


348  MY  WIFE  AND  L 

By  this  time  our  blood  was  thoroughly  up,  and  tl  e  game 
became  as  Eva  prophesied,  "  war  to  the  knife.''  Mohawk  in- 
dians  could  not  have  been  more  merciless  in  purposes  of 
utter  mischief  to  each  other  than  we,  and  for  a  while  it 
seemed  as  if  nothing  was  done  but  to  attack  each  other's 
balls,  and  send  them  as  far  as  possible  to  the  uttermost  part 
of  the  grounds,  As  each  had  about  equal  skill  in  making 
long  shots  the  re-union  however  was  constantly  effected, 
and  thus  each  in  turn  were  beaten  back  from  the  wickets,  till 
it  seemed  for  a  while  that  the  game  would  make  no 
progress. 

At  last,  however,  one  slip  of  our  antagonists  threw  the 
power  into  our  hands,  and  Miss  Sophie  used  it  to  take  her- 
self and  me  up  through  three  wickets  to  the  stake,  and 
thence  down  again  till  the  intricate  middle  wicket  stopped 
our  course. 

A  burst  of  cheering  greeted  her  success,  and  thedark  little 
lady  seemed  to  glow  like  a  coal  of  tire.  I  wasn't  sure  that 
sparks  did  not  snap  from  her  eyes  as  she  ended  her  per- 
formance with  a  croquet  that  sent  Eva's  ball  spinning  to  the 
most  inaccessible  distances. 

A  well-pointed  shot  from  Wat  Sydney  again  turned  the 
tide  of  battle,  and  routed  the  victors,  while  he  went  to  the 
rescue  of  the  banished  princess,  and  took  her  back  to 
position. 

Every  turn  of  the  tide,  and  every  good  shot  was  hailed 
with  cheers,  and  the  excitement  became  intense.  There 
were  points  in  the  battle  as  hard  to  carry  as  the  Mala- 
koff,  and  we  did  nothing  but  tight,  without  advancing 
a  step.  It  seemed  for  a  whils  that  none  of  us  would 
ever  fro  far  get  the  advantage  of  another  as  to  pass  that 
downward  middle  wicket.  Every  successive  step  was 
won  by  battles.  The  ladies  were  so  excited  that  they 
seemed  two  flames  of  fire.  Every  nerve  in  them  was 
alive,  and  we  men  felt  ourselves  only  clumsy  instruments 
of  their  enkindled  ardor.  We  were  ordered  about,  com- 
manded, rebuked,  encouraged,  and  cheered  on  to  the  fray 


THE  MATCH  GAME.  349 

-with  a  pungency  and  vigor  of  decision  that  made  us 
quite  secondary  characters  in  the  scene.  At  last  a  for- 
tunate stroke  gave  Miss  Sophie  the  command  of  the  game, 
and  she  dashed  through  the  middle  wicket,  sent  Eva's 
ball  to  farthest  regions  up,  and  Mr.  Sydney's  down  to 
the  stake,  took  mine  with  her  in  her  victorious  race 
through  wicket  alter  wicket,  quite  through  to  the  stake, 
aud  then  leaving  me  for  a  moment  she  croqueted  Syd- 
ney's ball  against  the  stake,  aud  put  it  out.  A  general 
cheer  and  shouts  of  "victory"  arose. 

"We've  got  it!  We're  quite  sure  to  go  out  the  next 
move!"  she  said,  in  triumph,  as  she  left  her  ball  by  my 
side.  "She  never  can  hit  at  that  distance." 

"  I  can  try,  though/'  said  Eva,  walking  across  the  ground, 
and  taking  her  place  by  her  ball,  pale  and  resolved,  witli  a 
concentrated  calmuecs,  She  sighted  the  balls  deliberately, 
poised  her  mallet,  took  aim,  and  gave  a  well-considered 
stroke.  Like  a  straight- aimed  arrow  the  ball  flew  across 
the  green,  through  the  final  wicket,  and  struck  Sophie's 
ball ! 

A  general  cheering  nrose,  and  the  victorious  marks- 
woman  walked  deliberately  down  to  finish  her  work.  One 
stroke  put  Sophie  out  of  the  combat,  the  next  struck 
upon  me  and  then  from  me  up  to  the  head  of  the  two 
last  wickets  that  yet  remained  to  be  made.  She  came 
through  these  with  one  straight  stroke,  and  hit  me  again. 

"  N  o w  for  it/1  she  said,  setting  her  red-slippered  foot  firmly 
on  the  ball,  and  with  one  virulent  tap,  away  flew  my  ball 
to  the  other  end  of  the  ground,  while  at  the  same  time 
hers  hit  the  stake  and  the  victory  was  won. 

A  general  shout,  and  three  cheers,  and  all  the  spectators 
started  from  their  seats  like  a  troop  of  gay  tropical  birds, 
and  came  flocking  around  the  victors. 

1  knelt  down,  and  laid  nay  mallet  at  her  feet.  "  Beau- 
tiful princess!"  said  I,  "behold  your  enemies,  conquered, 
await  your  sentence." 

"Arise,  Sir  Knight,"  she  said,  laughing;  "  I  sentence  you 


350  MT  WIFE  AND  I. 

to  write  a  ballad  describing  this  battle.  Come,  Sophie," 
she  added,  turning  gayly  to  the  brunette,  "let's  shake 
hands  on  it.  You  shall  have  your  revenge  of  me  at 
Newport  this  summer,"  and  the  two  rival  fair  ones  shook 
hands  in  all  apparent  amity. 

Wat  Sydney  now  advancing  presented  the  prize  with  a 
gallant  bow,  and  Eva  accepted  it  graciously,  and  fastened 
the  blue  scarf  that  floated  over  her  shoulder  with  it,  and 
then  the  whole  party  adjourned  to  another  portion  of  the 
lawn,  which  had  been  arranged  for  dancing  ;  the  music 
struck  up  and  soon  we  were  all  joining  in  the  dance  with 
a  general  hilarity. 

And  so  ended  the  day  at  Clairmont,  and  we  came  home 
under  a  broad  full  moon,  to  the  sound  of  music  on  the 
waters. 


LETTER  FROM  EVA  VAN  ARSDEL.  351 


CHAPTER     XXXIV. 

[Eva  Van  Arsdel  to  Isabel  Convers.] 

|Y  DEAREST  BELLE :— Since  I  last  wrote  you  won- 
drous things  have  taken  place,  and  of  course  I 
must  keep  you  au  courant. 

In  the  first  place  Mr.  Sydney  came  back  to  our  horizon 
like  a  comet  in  a  blaze  of  glory.  The  first  harbinger  of 
liis  return  was  not  himself  in  propria,  but  cards  for  a 
croquet  fete  up  at  Clainnont  got  up  with  the  last  degree 
of  elegance. 

Mr.  Sydney,  it  appears,  understands  the  effect  of  a 
gilded  frame  to  set  otf  a  picture,  and  so  resolved  to  mani- 
i'est  himself  to  us  in  all  bis  surroundings  at  Clairmont. 

The  party  was  to  be  very  select  and  recherche,  and  of 
course  everybody  was  just  wild  to  go,  and  the  Elmores 
in  particular  were  on  the  qui  vive  to  know  if  we  had 
invitations  before  them.  Sophia  Elmore  called  down  for 
nothing  but  to  see.  We  had  all  the  satisfaction  there 
was  to  be  got  in  showing  her  our  cards  and  letting  her 
know  that  they  had  come  two  days  sooner  than  theirs. 
Aunt  Maria  contrived  to  gi7e  them  to  understand  that 
Mr.  Sydney  gave  the  entertainment  mostly  on  my  account, 
*>vhich  1  think  was  assuming  quite  too  much  in  the  case. 
1  ain  positively  tired  of  these  mean  little  rivalries  and 
these  races  that  are  run  between  families. 

It  is  thought  that  Sophia  Elmore  is  quite  fascinated  by 
Mr.  Sydney.  Sophia  is  a  nice,  spirited  girl,  with  a  good, 
generous  heart  as  1  believe,  and  it's  a  thousand  pities  she 
shouldn't  have  him  if  she  cares  for  him. 


352  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

But,  to  my  story.  You  may  imagine  the  fuss  at  Tulle- 
gig's.  Of  course  we  belong  to  the  class  who  live  in  the 
enjoyment  of  "  nothing  to  wear,"  and  the  first  result  of  a 
projected  entertainment  is  to  throw  us  all  on  our  knees 
before  Tullegig,  who  queens  it  over  us  accordingly. 

i  was  just  d.ying  to  find  out  if  a  certain  person  was  to 
be  there.  Of  late  our  intercourse  has  been  so  very  stately 
and  diplomatic  that  it  really  becomes  exciting.  He  has 
avoided  every  appearance  of  intimacy,  every  approach  to 
our  old  confidential  standing,  and  yet  apparently  for  the 
life  of  liim  cannot  keep  from  taking  views  of  me  at  safe 
distance;  so,  as  I  said,  it  was  something  to  see  if  he 
would  be  there. 

As  to  Clairmont,  I  think  in  the  course  of  my  life  I 
have  seen  fine  grounds,  fiue  houses,  fine  furniture,  and 
fine  fetes  before.  Nevertheless  I  must  do  Sydney  the 
justice  to  say  that  he  gave  a  most  charming  and  beau- 
tiful entertainment  where  everything  was  just  as  lovely 
as  could  be.  We  went  up  on  a  splendid  boat  to  the  sound 
of  music.  We  had  a  magnificent  lunch  under  the  trees, 
and  there  were  arrangements  for  four  games  to  go  on  at 
once,  which  made  a  gay  and  animated  tableau.  All  the 
girls  wore  the  prettiest  costumes  you  can  imagine,  each 
one  seeming  prettier  than  the  other;  and  when  they  were 
all  moving  about  in  the  game  it  made  a  bright,  cheer- 
ful ettect.  Mr.  Henderson  was  there  and  distinguished 
himself  to  such  a  degree  that  he  was  appointed  one  of 
the  four  who  were  to  play  a  match-game,  in  conclusion, 
for  a  prize.  Curiously  enough  he  played  with  Sophia 
against  Sydney  and  myself.  How  we  did  fight!  Sophie 
is  one  of  these  girls  that  feel  everything  to  the  tips  of  their 
fingers,  and  I  am  another,  and  if  we  didn't  make  those  men 
bestir  themselves !  I  fancy  they  found  women  rulers  were 
of  a  kind  to  keep  men  pretty  busy. 

I  can  imagine  the  excitement  we  women  would  make  of 
an  election  if  we  should  ever  get  into  politics.  Would 


LETTER  FROM  EVA   VAN  ARSDEL.  353 

we  not  croquet  our  adversaries'  balls,  and  make  stunning 
split  shots  in  panics,  and  wire  ourselves  artfully  behind 
wisfcete,  and  do  nil  sorts  of  perplexing  things?  I  confess 

if  the  cxcilemcnt  should  get  to  be  half  as  great  as  in 
playing  croquet,  i  should  tremble  to  tliiuk  of  it. 

Well,  it  was  some  excitement  at  all  events  to  play  against 
each  other,  lie  and  I.  Didn't  I  seek  out  his  ball,  didn't  L 
pursue  it,  beat  it  back  from  wickets,  come  on  it  with  most 
surprising  and  unexpected  shots?  Sophie  fought  with  des- 
peration on  the  other  side,  and  at  last  they  seemed  to  have 
carried  the  day,  there  was  but  one  stroke  wanting  to  put 
them  out;  they  had  killed  Sydney  at  the  stake  and  banished 
me  to  the  farthest  extremity  of  the  ground.  Mamma  al- 
ways said  I  had  the  genius  for  emergencies,  and  if  you'll 
believe  me  I  struck  quite  across  the  ground  and  hit  Sophie's 
ball  and  sent  it  out,  and  then  I  took  Ma  back  to  make 
my  two  last  wickets  with,  and  finally  with  an  imposing 
coup  <!<•  thcutrc  1  croqueted  him  to  the  other  end  of  the 
ground,  and  went  out  amid  thunders  of  applause,  lie 
took  it  with  great  presence  of  mind,  knelt  down  and  laid 
the  mallet  handsomely  at  rny  feet,  and  professed  to  deliver 
himself  captive,  and  I  imposed  it  on  him  as  a  task  to  write 
a  ballad  desciiptive  of  the  encounter.  So  he  was  shut  up 
for  about  half  an  hour  in  che  library,  and  came  out  with  a 
very  fine  and  funny  ballad  in  Chevy  Chase  measure  de- 
scribing our  exploits,  which  was  read  under  the  trees,  and 
cheered  and  encored  in  the  liveliest  manner  possible. 

On  the  whole,  Mr.  Henderson  may  be  said  to  have  had 
quite  a  society  success  yesterday,  as  I  heard  him  very  much 
admired,  and  the  Elmores  overwhelmed  niin  with  pressing 
invitations  to  call,  to  coma  to  their  soirees,  etc.,  etc.  You 
see  these  Elmores  have  everything  money  can  buy,  and  so 
they  are  distracted  to  be  literary,  or  at  least  to  have  literary 
people  in  their  train,  and  they  have  always  been  wanting 
to  get  I  lenders  n  and  .Jim  Fellows  to  their  receptions.  So 
I  heard  Mrs.  Klmore  overwhelming  him  with  compliments 
on  his  poem  in  a  way  that  quite  amused  me,  for  I  knew 


354  MY  WIFE  AND  1. 

enough  of  him  to  know  exactly  how  all  this  seemed  to  him. 
He  is  of  all  persons  one  of  the  most  difficult  to  natter,  and 
has  the  keenest  sense  of  the  ridiculous ;  and  Mrs,  Elmore's 
stj  le  is  as,  if  one  should  empty  a  bushel  basket  of  peaches 
or  grapes  on  your  head  instead  of  passing  the  fruit  dish. 

But  I  am  so  busy  traducing  my  neighbors  that  1  forgot  to 
say  I  won  the  croquet  prize,  wliicli  was  duly  presented.  It 
was  a  gold  croquet  mallet  set  as  a  pin  with  four  balls  of 
emerald,  amethyst,  ruby,  and  topaz  depending  from  it.  It 
had  quite  an  Etruscan  effect  and  was  ver£  pretty,  but  when 
1  saw  how  much  Sophia  really  took  the  defeat  to  heart, 
my  soul  was  moved  for  her  and  I  made  a  peace-offering 
by  getting  her  to  accept  it.  It  was  not  easy  at  first,  but  I 
made  a  point  of  it  and  insisted  upon  it  with  all  my  logic, 
telling  her  that  in  point  of  skill  she  had  really  won  the 
game,  that  my  last  stroke  was  only  a  lucky  accident,  and 
you  know  I  can  generally  talk  people  into  almost  any- 
thing I  set  my  heart  on,  and  so  as  Sophie  was  nattered  by 
my  estimate  of  her  skill  and  as  the  bauble  is  a  pretty  one, 
I  prevailed  on  her  to  take  it.  I  am  tired  and  sick  of  this  fuss 
between  the  El  mores  and  us,  and  don't  mean  to  have  more 
of  it,  for  Sophie  really  is  a  nice  girl,  and  not  a  bit  more 
spoiled  than  any  of  the  rest  of  us,  notwithstanding  all  the 
nonsense  of  her  family,  and  she  and  I  have  agreed  to  be  fast 
friends  for  the  future,  whatever  may  come. 

1  had  one  other  motive  in  this  move.  I  never  have  ac- 
cepted jewelry  from  Sydney,  and  I  was  quite  willing  to 
be  rid  of  this.  If  I  could  only  croquet  his  heart  down  to 
Soohie  to  use,  it  might  be  a  nice  thing.  I  fancy  she  would 
like  it. 

I  managed  my  cards  quite  adroitly  all  day  to  avoid  a 
tete-a-tete  interview  with  Sydney.  I  was  careful  always  to 
be  in  the  center  of  a  group  of  two  or  three,  and  when  he 
asked  me  to  walk  through  the  conservatories  with  him  I 
said,  "Come,  Amy  and  Jane,"  and  took  them  along. 

As  to  somebody  else,  he  made  no  attempt  of  the  kind, 
though  I  could  see  that  he  saw  me  wherever  I  went.  Do 


LETTER  FROM  EVA  VAN  ARSDEL.  355 

these  creatures  suppose  we  don't  see  their  eyes,  and  fancy 
that  they  conceal  their  feelings  ?  I  am  perfectly  certain 
that  whatever  the  matter  is,  he  thinks  as  much  of  me  as 
ever  he  did. 

Well,  it  was  moonlight  and  music  all  the  way  home,  the 
band  playing  the  most  heart-breaking,  entrancing  haimo- 
nies  from  Beethoven  and  melodies  from  Schubert,  and  then 
Wat  Sydney  annoyed  me  beyond  measure  by  keeping  up  a 
distracting  chit-chat  when  1  wanted  to  be  quiet  and  listen. 
He  cares  nothing  Cor  music,  and  people  who  don't  are  like 
flies,  they  have  no  mercy  and  never  will  leave  you  a  quiet 
moment.  The  other  one  went  off  and  sat  by  himself,  gazed 
at  the  moon  and  heard  the  music  all  in  the  most  proper 
and  romantic  style,  and  looked  like  a  handsome  tenor  at  an 
opera. 

*  *  *  *  *  *  « 

So  far,  my  dear,  the  history  of  our  affairs.  But  something 
more  surprising  than  ever  you  heard  has  just  happened, 
and  I  must  hasten  to  jot  it  down. 

Yesterday  afternoon,  being  worried  and  wearied  with  the 
day  before,  I  left  your  letter,  as  you  see,  and  teased  lua  to 
go  out  driving  with  me  in  the  Park.  She  had  promised 
Erne  St.  Clere  to  sketch  some  patterns  of  arbors  and  garden 
seats  that  are  there,  for  her  new  place  at  Fern  Valley,  and  I 
had  resolved  on  a  lonely  ramble  to  clear  my  heart  and  brain. 

Moreover,  the  last  time  I  was  there  I  saw  from  one  of  the 
bridges  a  very  pretty  cascade  falling  into  a  charming  little 
wooded  lake  in  the  distance.    I  resolved  to  go  in  search  of 
this  same  cascade  which  is  deep  in  a  shady  labyrinth  of 
pathjs. 

Well,  it  was  a  most  lovely  perfect  day,  and  we  left  our 
carriage  at  the  terrace  and  started  off  for  our  ramble,  Ida 
with  her  sketch-book  in  hand.  She  was  very  soon  hard  at 
work  at  a  rustic  summer-house  while  I  plunged  into  a 
woody  tangle  of  paths  guided  only  by  the  distant  sound 
of  the  cascades.  It  was  toward  evening  and  the  paths 
seemed  quite  solitary,  for  I  met  not  a  creature.  I  might 
really  have  thought  I  was  among  the  ferns  and  white 


356  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

birches  tip  in  Con  way,  or  anywhere  in  the  mountains,  it 
was  so  perfectly  mossy  and  wild  and  solitary.  A  flock  of 
wild  geese  seemed  to  be  making  an  odd  sort  of  outlandish 
noise,  far  in  a  deep,  dark  tangle  of  bushes,  and  it  appeared 
to  me  to  produce  the  impression  of  utter  solitude  more 
than  anything  else.  Evidently  it  was  a  sort  of  wild  lair 
seldom  invaded.  I  still  heard  the  noise  of  the  cascade 
through  a  thicket  of  leaves,  but  could  not  get  a  sight  of 
it.  Sometimes  it  seemed  near  and  sometimes  far  off,  but 
at  last  I  thought  I  hit  upon  a  winding  path  that  seemed  to 
promise  to  take  me  to  it.  It  wound  round  a  declivity  and 
I  could  tell  by  the  sound  I  was  approaching  the  water. 
I  was  quite  animated  and  ran  forward  till  a  sudden  turn 
brought  me  to  the  head  of  the  cascade  where  there  was  a 
railing  and  one  seat,  and  as  I  came  running  down  I  saw 
suddenly  a  man  with  a  book  in  his  hand  sitting  on  this 
seat,  and  it  was  Mr.  Henderson. 

He  rose  up  when  he  saw  me  and  looked  pale,  but  an  ex- 
pression of  perfectly  rapturous  delight  passed  over  his  face 
as  I  checked  myself  astonished. 

"Miss  Van  Arsdel !"  he  said.  "  To  what  happy  fate  do  I 
owe  this  good  fortune  !'' 

I  recovered  myself  and  said  that  "  I  was  not  aware  of 
any  particular  good  fortune  in  the  case." 

"  Not  to  you,  perhaps,"  he  said,  "  but  to  me.  I  have  seer 
nothing  of  you  for  so  long,"  he  added,  rather  piteously. 

"There  has  been  nothing  that  I  am  aware  of  to  pre- 
vent your  seeing  me,"  I  said.  "  If  Mr.  Henderson  chooses 
to  make  himself  strange  to  his  friends  it  is  his  own  affair. '; 
He  looked  confused  and  murmured  something  about  "many 
engagements  and  business." 

"  Mr.  Henderson,  you  will  excuse  me,"  said  I,  resolved  not 
to  have  this  sort  of  thing  go  on  any  longer.    "  You  have  al 
ways  been  treated  at  our  house  as  an  intimate  and  valued 
friend ;  of  late  you  seem  to  prefer  to  act  like  a  ceremonious 
stranger." 

'•  Indeed,  you  mistake  me,  entirely,  Miss  Van  Arsdel,"  he 


LETTER  FROM  EVA  VAN  ARSDEL  357 

sjii<l,  eagerly.  "  You  must  know  my  feelings ;  you  must  ap- 
preciate my  reasons;  you  see  why  I  cannot  and  ought  not." 

"I  am  quite  in  the  dark  as  to  both,"  I  said.  "I  cannot 
see  any  reason  why  we  should  not  be  on  the  old  footing:,  I 
am  sure.  You  have  acted  of  late  as  if  you  were  afraid  to 
meet  me  ;  it  is  all  perfectly  unaccountable  to  me.  Why 
should  you  do  so?  What  reason  can  there  be1?" 

"Because,"  he  said,  with  a  sort  of  desperation,  "because 
I  love  you,  Miss  Van  Arsdel.  Because  I  always  shall  love 
YOU  too  well  to  associate  with  you  as  the  wife  or  betrothed 
bride  of  another  man." 

"  There  is  no  occasion  you  should,  Mr.  Henderson.  I  am 
not,  so  far  as  I  understand,  either  wife  or  betrothed  to  any 
man,"  I  said. 

lie  looked  perfectly  thunderstruck. 

"  Yet  I  heard  it  from  the  best  aut  lority." 

"  From  what  authority  V1  said  I,  "  for  I  deny  it." 

"  Your  mother." 

"  My  mother  ?"  I  was  thunderstruck  in  my  turn  ;  here  it 
was  1o  be  sure.  Poor  mamma!  I  saw  through  the  whole 
mystery. 

"  Your  mother  told  me,"  he  went  on,  "  that  there  was  a 
tacit  engagement  which  was  to  be  declared  on  Mr.  Sydney's 
return,  and  cautioned  me  against  an  undue  intimacy." 

"My  mother,"  I  said,  "has  done  her  utmost  to  persuade 
me  to  this  engagement.  I  refused  Mr.  Sydney  out  and  out 
in  the  beginning.  She  persuaded  me  to  allow  him  to  con- 
tinue his  attentions  in  hope  of  changing  my  mind,  but  it 
never  has  changed." 

He  grew  agitated  and  spoke  very  quickly. 

"  Oh,  tell  me,  Miss  Van  Arsdel,  if  I  may  hope  for  success 
iii  making  the  same  effort  *?" 

"  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  you  might,"  said  I. 

There  folio v/ed  a  sort  of  electric  flash  and  a  confusion  of 
wild  words  after  this— really  my  dear  I  cannot  remember 
half  what  he  said— only  the  next  I  knew,  somehow,  we 
were  walking  arm  in  arm  together. 


358  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

"  What  a  talk  we  had,  and  what  a  walk  up  and  down 
those  tangled  alleys !  going  over  everything  and  explaining 
everything.  It  was  a  bright  long  twilight  arid  the  great 
silver  nioon  rose  upon,  us  while  yet  we  were  talking.  After 
a  while  I  heard  Ida  calling  up  and  down  the  paths  for  me. 
She  came  up  and  met  us  with  her  sketch-book  under  her 
arm." 

*'  Ida,  we're  engaged,  Harry  and  I,"  I  said. 

"  So  I  thought,''  she  said,  looking  at  us  kindly  and  stretch- 
ing out  both  hands. 

I  took  one  and  he  the  other. 

"  Do  you  think  I  have  any  chance  with  your  parents  ?" 
asked  Harry. 

"  I  think,"  said  Ida,  "  that  you  will  find  trouble  at  first, 
but  you  may  rely  on  Eva,  she  will  never  change;  but  we 
must  go  home." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  it  would  not  do  to  introduce  the  matter  by 
getting  up  a  domestic  alarm  and  sending  a  party  to  drag  the 
lake  for  us ;  we  must  drive  home  in  a  peaceable,  orderly 
manner,"  and  so,  it  being  agreed  among  us  that  I  should  try 
my  diplomatic  powers  on  maniina  first,  and  Harry  should 
speak  to  papa  afterward,  we  drove  home. 

Well,  now  Belle,  it  is  all  over — the  mystery  I  mean;  and 
the  struggle  with  the  powers,  that  bids  to  begin.  How  odd 
it  is  that  marriage,  which  is  a  thing  of  all  others  most  per- 
sonal and  individual,  is  a  thing  where  all  your  friends  want 
you  to  act  to  please  them  ! 

Mamma  probably  in  her  day  felt  toward  papa  just  as  I 
feel,  but  I  am  sure  she  will  be  drowned  in  despair  that  I 
cannot  see  Wat  Sydney  with  her  eyes,  and  that  I  do  choose 
to  see  Harry  with  mine.  But  it  isn't  mamma  that  is  to  live 
with  him,  it  is  I ;  it  is  my  fearful  venture  for  life,  not  hers. 
I  am  to  give  the  right  to  have  and  to  hold  me  till  life's  end. 
When  I  think  of  that  I  wonder  I  am  not  afraid  to  risk  it 
with  any  man,  but  with  him  I  am  not.  I  know  him  so  inti- 
mately and  trust  him  so  entirely. 

What  a  laugh  I  gave  him  last  night,  telling  him  how 


LETTER  FROM  EVA  VAN  ARSDEL.  359 

foolishly  he  had  acted  ;  he  likes  to  have  me  take  him  off, 
and  seemed  perfectly  astonished  that  I  had  had  the  perspi- 
cuity to  read  his  feelings.  These  men,  my  dear,  have  a  kind 
of  innocent  stupidity  in  matters  of  this  kind  that  is  re- 
freshing ! 

Well,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  there  was  one  blissful  indi- 
vidual sent  home  in  New  York  last  night,  notwithstanding 
the  terrors  of  the  '  stern  parents,"1  that  are  yet  to  be  encoun- 
tered 

How  I  do  chatter  on !  Well,  my  dear  Belle,  you  see  I  have 
kept  my  word.  I  always  told  you  that  I  would  let  you  know 
\vhrn  1  was  engaged,  the  very  first  of  any  one,  and  now  here 
it  is.  You  may  make  the  most  of  it  and  tell  whom  you  please, 
for  I  shall  never  change.  I  am  as  firm  as  Ben  Lomond. 

Ever  your  loving  EVA. 


3GO  MY  WIFE  AND  2. 


CHAPTER     XXXV. 

DOMESTIC  CONSULTATIONS. 

]N  the  afternoon  after  the  croquet  party  Aunt  Maria 
Wouvermans  and  Mrs.  Van  Arsdel,  withdrawn  to 
the  most  confidential  recess  of  the  house,  held 
mysterious  council. 

"  Well,  Nelly,"  said  Aunt  Maria,  "how  did  you  tlrink  things 
looked  yesterday  "?" 

"  I  thought  a  crisis  was  impending,  but  after  all  nothing 
came.  But  you  see,  Maria,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Arsdel,  "  that 
girl !  she  is  the  most  peculiar  creature.  She  wouldn't  give 
him  the  least  chance  ;  she  just  held  herself  away  from  him. 
Two  or  three  times  I  tried  to  arrange  that  they  should  be 
alone  together,  but  she  wouldn't.  She  would  keep  Susan  and 
Jane  Seaton  at  her  elbow  as  if  they  had  been  glued  to  her." 

"  It  was  so  provoking,"  said  Aunt  Maria,  "  because  all 
the  Elmores  were  there  watching  and  whispering.  Those 
Elmores  are  in  such  an  elated  state  on  account  of  the  wed- 
ding in  their  family.  You'd  really  think  it  was  a  royal 
marriage  at  the  very  least ;  and  they  whisper  about  and  talk 
as  it'  we  had  been  trying  to  catch  Sydney  and  couldn't ;  that's 
what  provokes  me !  they  were  all  on  tiptoe  watching  every 
turn,  and  I  did  long  to  be  able  to  come  down  on  them  with 
an  announcement !  What  ails  Eva  ?  Of  course  she  must 
mean  to  have  him ;  no  girl  at  her  age  would  be  fool  enough 
to  refuse  such  an  offer ;  you  see  she's  three-and-twenty." 

"  Well,  if  you'll  believe  me,  Eva  actually  went  and  gave 
that  croquet  pin  Sydney  gave  her  to  Sophie  Elniore !  I 
overheard  her  urging  it  on  her,  and  he  overheard  it  too,  and 
I  know  he  didn't  like  it ;  it  was  so  very  marked  a  thing,  you 

SGC  • 


DOMESTIC  CONSULTATIONS.  361 

"  Eva  gave  that  pin  to  Sophie  Elmore !  The  girl  is  crazy. 
She  is  too  provoking  for  anything!  I  can't  think  what  it 
is,  Nelly,  makes  your  girls  so  singular." 

Mrs.  WoiiviTiuans,  it  will  appear,  was  one  of  that  very 
common  class  of  good  people  who  improve  every  oppor- 
tunity to  show  how  very  senseless  their  neighbors  are  com- 
pared with  themselves.  The  sole  and  only  reason,  as  might 
be  gathered  from  her  remarks,  why  anything  disagreeable 
happened  to  anybody,  was  because  they  did  not  do,  or  had 
not  done  just  as  she  should  have  done  in  their  circumstances. 

Now  Mrs.  Van  Arsdel,  though  conceding  in  general  that 
sister  Maria  was  rtronger  and  brighter  than  herself,  was 
somewhat  rebellious  under  the  process  of  having  it  insisted 
in  detail  that  every  unfortunate  turn  of  affairs  was  her  fault, 
and  so  she  answered  with  some  spirit. 

"  I  don't  see  that  my  girls  are  any  more  singular  than  other 
people's.  Very  few  mothers  have  brought  up  nicer  girls 
than  mine.  Everybody  says  so." 

"  And  1  say,  Nelly,  they  are  peculiar,"  insisted  Mrs. 
Wouvermaiis.  "  There's  Ida  going  off  at  her  tangent!  and 
Miss  Eva!  Well!  one  thing,  it  isn't  my  fault.  I've  done 
the  very  best  I  could  in  instructing  them!  It  must  come 
from  the  Van  Arsdel  side  of  the  house.  I'm  sure  in  our 
iainily  erirls  never  made  so  much  trouble.  We  all  grew  up 
sensible,  and  took  the  very  best  offer  we  had,  and  were 
married  and  went  about  our  duties  without  any  fuss.  Though 
of  course  we  never  had  a  chance  like  this." 

"Now,  F  shouldn't  wonder  in  the  least,"  said  Mrs.  Van 
Arsdel,  "if  Sydney  should  fly  off  to  Sophie  Elmore.  It's 
evident  that  she  is  perfectly  infatuated  with  him !  and  you 
know  men's  hearts  are  caught  on  the  rebound  very  often." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Aunt  Maria,  JJ I  shouldn't  wonder,  just  as 
Jerold  Macy  flew  off  to  Blanche  Sinclair,  when  Edith  Eii- 
derly  coquetted  so  with  him.  He  never  would  have  gone  to 
I  Blanche  in  the  worlcj  if  Edith  had  not  thrown  him  off. 
Edith  was  son  v  enough  afterward  when  it  was  too  late  to 
help  it," 


362  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

"I  declare,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Arsdel,  "one  never  knows 
what  trouble  is  till  one  has  girls  at  the  marrying  age  !" 

"  It's  all  your  own  fault,"  said  Aunt  Maria,  "  you  indulge 
them  too  much.  For  my  part,"  she  continued,  "  I  like  the 
French  way  of  arranging  these  things.  It  ought  not  to  be 
left  to  the  choice  of  a  young  silly  girl.  The  parents  ought 
to  arrange  for  her,  and  then  the  thing  is  settled  without  any 
trouble.  Of  course  people  of  experience  in  mature  life  can 
choose  better  for  a  girl  than  she  can  choose  for  herself !  Our 
girls  in  America  have  too  much  liberty.  If  I  had  daughters 
to  bring  up  I  should  bring  them  up  so  that  thay  would  never 
think  of  disputing  what  I  told  them." 

"  So  you  are  always  saying,  Maria,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Arsdel, 
"  it's  quite  safe  to  say  what  you'll  do  when  you  haven't  any, 
but  it's  very  provoking  to  me.  I  only  wish  you  had  Ida  and 
Eva  to  manage." 

"I  only  wish  I  had !''  said  Aunt  Maria.  "I  should  have 
had  them  both  well  married  by  this  time.  There  shouldn't 
be  any  of  this  kind  of  nonsense  that  you  allow.  I'd  set  down 
my  foot.  I  wouldn't  have  it.  My  daughters  should  obey  me. 
You  let  them  make  a  perfect  nose-of-wax  of  you.  They 
treat  you  in  any  way  they  please." 

"  You  always  think  so  much  of  yourself,  Maria,  and  what- 
ever happens  you  turn  round  and  blame  me.  I  wish  to  mercy 
you'd  had  children  and  then  you'd  see !  People  who  haven't 
are  always  delighted  with  themselves  and  always  criticising 
people  who  have.  If  you  had  a  family  of  children  to  manage 
they'd  soon  bring  you  down,'' 

"Well,  Nelly,  you'll  just  see,  you'll  have  a  lot  of  old  maids 
on  your  hands,  that's  all,"  said  Aunt  Maria.  "  Ida  is  a  gone 
case  now,  and  Eva  is  on  the  certain  road.  Girls  that  are  so 
difficult  and  romantic  and  can't  tell  their  own  mind  are  sure 
to  make  old  maids  at  last.  There  was  Ellen  Gilliflower, 
and  Jane  Seabright,  they  might  both  have  had  houses  and 
horses  and  carriages  of  their  own  if  they  had  taken  offers 
when  they  could  get  them." 

"  You  know  poor  Jane  lost  her  lover." 


DOMESTIC  CONSULTATIONS.  363 

"To  be  sure.  Well,  he  was  dead,  wasn't  he?  and  she 
couldn't  marry  him,  but  was  that  any  reason  why  she  never 
(should  marry  anybody  1  There  wan  John  Smithson  would 
have  put  her  at  the  head  of  one  of  the  best  establishments 
about  New  York,  and  she  might  have  had  her  own  coupe  and 
horses  just  as  Mrs.  Smithson  does  now.  It's  all  this  ridicu- 
lous idea  about  loving.  Why,  girls  can  love  anybody  they'd 
a  mind  to,  and  if  I  had  a  daughter  sho  should." 

"  Oh !  I  don't  know,  Maria,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Arsdel.  "  I 
think  it  is  a  pretty  serious  thing  to  force  a  daughter's  affec- 
tions." 

"  Fiddlestick  upon  affections,  Nelly,  don't  you  begin  to 
talk.  It  makes  me  perfectly  sick  to  hear  the  twaddle  about 
it.  People  in  good  circumstances  always  like  each  other 
well  enough,  and  any  girl  can  get  Jilong  with  any  man  that 
puts  her  in  a  good  position  and  takes  good  care  of  her.  If 
Ida  had  been  made  to  many  a  good  man  when  she  first 
came  out  of  school  she  never  would  have  gone  off  at  all  these 
tangents,  and  she'd  have  been  a  contented  woman,  and  so 
would  Eva.  She  ought  to  be  made  to  marry  Wat  Sydney, 
it  is  a  tempting  of  Providence  to  let  the  thing  drag  on  so. 
Now,  if  Sydney  was  like  Sim  Rivington,  I  wouldn't  say  a 
word.  I  think  Polly's  conduct  is  perfectly  abominable,  and 
if  Sim  goes  on  getting  drunk  and  raises  a  hell  upon  earth 
at  home  Polly  may  just  have  herself  to  thank  for  it,  for  she 
was  told  all  about  him.  She  did  it  with  her  eyes  open,  but 
Eva's  case  is  different." 

At   this   moment  the   door-bell   rung,   and  the   waiter 
brought  in  a  letter  on  a  silver  salver.    Both  ladies  pounced 
upon  it,  and  Aunt  Maria  saying,  "It's  to  you,  from  Syd 
ney,"  eagerly  broke  it  open  and  began  reading. 

"  I  should  think,  sister,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Arsdel,  in  an  in- 
jured tone,  "/might  be  allowed  the  first  reading  of  my 
own  letters." 

"  Oh,  pshaw,  don't  be  so  peevish,"  said  Aunt  Maria, 
pushing  it  petulantly  toward  her.  "If  you  don't  want  me 
to  take  any  interest  in  your  affairs  I'm  sure  I  don't  see  why 


3(34  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

I  should.    I'll  go,  and  you  may  manage  them  yourself." 

"  But,  Maria,"  said  poor  Mrs.  Van  Arsdel,  apologetically, 
"  one  naturally  bas  the  wish  to  sea  one's  own  letters  first." 

"  Well,  mercy  on  us,  child,  don't  be  in  a  passion  about  it," 
said  Aunt  Maria,  "you've  got  your  letter,  haven't  you? 
Do  read  it,  and  you'll  see  it's  just  as  I  thought.  That  girl 
has  offended  him  with  her  airs  and  graces,  and  he  is  iust  on 
the  point  of  giving  her  up." 

"  But,  you  see,  he  says  that  he  still  desires  to  propose 
to  her,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Arsdel,  reading,  "  only  that  as  her 
manner  to  him  is  so  marked  he  does  not  wish  to  expose 
himself  to  another  refusal." 

"  Well,"  said  Aunt  Maria,  "now  you  see,  Nelly,  after  all, 
that  letter  leaves  the  game  in  Eva's  own  hands.  If  now  she 
will  behave  herself  and  let  you  invite  him  to  an  inter- 
view and  treat  him  properly,  it  can  all  be  settled.  The 
letter,  in  fact,  amounts  to  a  proposal  in  form.  Now,  Nelly, 
that  girl  must  be  made  to  behave  herself.  I  wish  I  could 
put  some  pluck  into  you ;  you  must  be  decided  with  her." 

"  It's  of  no  use,  sister,  you  don't  know  Eva.  She's  an 
easy  ch'ld  to  be  coaxed,  but  she  has  a  terrible  will  of  her 
own.  The  only  way  to  manage  her  is  through  her  affec- 
tions. I  can't  bear  to  cross  her,  for  she  always  was  a  good 
child." 

"  Well,  then,  tell  her  just  how  critical  the  state  of  the 
family  is.  She  may  have  it  in  her  power  to  save  her  father 
from  failure.  It  may  be  just  life  or  death  with  us  all. 
Put  it  to  her  strongly.  It  would  be  a  pretty  thing,  indeed, 
if  instead  of  being  mistress  of  Clairmont  and  that  place 
at  Newport,  we  should  all  be  driven  to  take  second-rate- 
houses  and  live  like  nobodies,  just  for  her  foolish  fancies. 
You  ought  to  frighten  her,  Nelly.  Set  it  out  strongly.  Ap- 
peal to  her  affections." 

"  Well,  I  shall  do  my  best,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Arsdel, 

"  Where  is  she  ?  let  me  talk  with  her,"  said  Aunt  Maria. 

"  She  and  Ida  are  both  gone  driving  in  the  Park  this  after- 
noon, but  alter  all,  sister,  I  think  Jhad  best  manage  it.  I 


DOMESTIC  CONSULTATIONS.  365 

think  I  understand  Kvn  better  than  you  do.  She  would  do 
more  (W  me  than  for  anybody,  I  think,  for  the  child  is  very 
affectionate." 

"There  can't  be  anybody  else  in  the  case,  can  there  f 
said  Aunt  Maria.  "I  begun  to  think  it  rather  imprudent 
to  have  that  Henderson  round  so  much,  but  of  late  he  seems 
to  have  stopped  coming." 

"  I  natter  myself,  I  managed  him,"  said' Mrs.  Van  Arsdal, 
with  complacency.  "  I  gave  him  a  little  motherly  admon- 
ition that  had  a  wonderful  effect.  After  all  it  was  a  duty 
I  owed  to  him,  poor  youth  !  Eva  is  wonderfully  fascinat- 
ing, and  I  could  see  he  was  getting  too  much  interested  in 
her.  I  have  a  regard  for  him.  He  is  a  nice  fellow." 

."I  intended  to  have  him  take  Ida,"  said  Aunt  Maria. 
"  That  would  have  been  the  proper  thing  to  do." 

"  Well,  Maria,  I  should  think  you  might  have  found 
out  by  this  time  that  everybody  in  the  world  isn't  going 
to  walk  in  the  ways  you  mark  out  for  them." 

"  It  would  be  better  for  them  if  they  would,"  said  Aunt 
Maria.  "  If  I  had  had  the  bringing  up  of  your  children  from 
the  beginning,  Nelly,  and  you  had  never  interfered,  I  think 
you  would  have  seen  results  that  you  never  will  see  now. 
It  seems  mysterious  that  Providence  shouldn't  send  chil- 
dren to  those  best  fitted  to  bring  them  up.  Well,  you  must 
do  the  best  you  can.  What  time  is  it  ?  Dear  me,  it  is 
almost  dinner  time  and  I  have  a  new  table  girl  to-day.  I 
expect  she'll  have  everything  topsy-turvey.  I'll  call  round 
to-niorrow  to  see  how  things  come  on." 


366  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

WEALTH  VerSUS  LOVE. 

|  VA  VAN  ARSDEL  was  seated  in  her  apartment  in 
all  that  tremulous  flush  of  happiness  and  hope, 
that  confusion  of  feeling,  which  a  young  girl  ex- 
periences when  she  thinks  that  the  great  crisis  of  her  life 
has  been  past,  and  her  destiny  happily  decided. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  I  like  him,  I  like  him ; 
and  I  am  going  to  like  him,  no  matter  what  mamma,  or 
Aimt  Maria,  or  all  the  world  say.  I'll  stand  by  him  through 
life  and  death." 

At  this  moment  her  mother  came  into  the  room. 

"Dear  me!  Eva,  child,  not  gone  to  bed  yet!  Why, 
what's  the  matter  ?  how  flushed  your  cheeks  are !  "Why, 
you  look  really  feverish." 

"  Do  I  ?"  said  Eva,  hardly  knowing  what  she  was  say- 
ing. "  Well,  I  suppose  that  is  becoming,  at  any  rate." 

"  Aren't  you  well  ?"  said  her  mother.  *'  Does  your  head 
ache  ?" 

"Well!  certainly,  nicely;  never  better,  mamma  dear," 
said  Eva,  caressingly,  coming  and  seating  herself  on  her 
mother's  knee,  and  putting  her  arm  around  her  neck — 
"  never  better,  mother." 

"Well,  Eva,  then  I  am  glad  of  it.  I  just  wanted  a  few 
minutes  alone  with  you  to-night.  I  have  got  something  to 
tell  you"— and  she  drew  a  letter  from  her  pocket.  "  Here's 
this  letter  from  Mr.  Sydney;  I  want  to  read  you  something 
from  it." 

"  Oh  dear  mamma !  what's  the  use  ?  Don't  you  think  it 
rather  stupid,  reading  letters  ?" 

"  My  dear  child,  Mr.  Sydney  is  such  a  good  man,  and  so 
devoted  to  you." 


WEALTH  versus  LOVE.  367 

"I  haven't  the  least  objection,  mamma,  to  Iris  being  a 
good  in  an.  Long  may  he  be  so.  But  as  to  his  being  devoted 
to  nu»,  I  am  sorry  for  it." 

"  At  least,  Eva,  just  read  this  letter— there's  a  dear ;  and 
I  am  sure  you  must  see  how  like  a  gentleman  he  writes." 

Eva  took  the  letter  from  her  mother's  hand,  and  ran  it 
over  hurriedly. 

"  All  no  use,  mamma,  dear,"  she  said,  when  she  had  done. 
"It  won't  hurt  him.  He'll  get  over  this  just  as  people  do 
with  the  chicken  pox.  The  fact  is,  mamma,  Mr.  Sydney  is 
a  man  that  can't  bear  to  be  balked  in  anything  that  he  lias 
once  undertaken  to  do.  It  is  not  that  he  loves  me  so 
very  dreadfully,  but  he  has  set  out  to  have  me.  If  he 
could  have  got  me,  ten  to  one,  he  would  have  tired  of  me 
before  now.  You  know  he  said  that  he  never  cared  any- 
thing about  a  girl  that  he  knew  he  could  have.  It  is 
simply  and  only  because  I  have  kept  myself  out  of  his  way 
and  been  hard  to  get  that  he  wants  me.  If  he  once  had 
ine  for  a  wife,  1  should  be  all  weil  enough,  but  I  should  be 
got,  and  he'd  be  off  after  the  next  thing  he  could  not  get. 
That's  just  his  nature,  mamma." 

"  But,  Eva  dear,  such  a  fine  man  as  he  is." 

"  I  do  not  see  that  he  is  so  very  fine." 

"  But.  Eva,  only  look  at  the  young  men  that  girls  marry ! 
Why,  there's  that  young  Rivington ;  he's  drunk  three  nights 
in  a  week,  so  they  tell  me.  And  there  are  worse  stories 
than  th  at  about  him.  He  has  been  bad  in  every  kind  of 
way  that  a  man  could  be  bad.  And  yet,  Polly  Elmore  is 
perfectly  crazy  with  delight  to  have  her  daughter  get  him. 
And  here's  Wat  Sydney,  who,  everybody  says,  is  always 
perfectly  sober  and  correct." 

"  Well,  mamma  dear,  if  it  is  only  a  sober,  correct  man 
that  you  want  me  to  have,  there's  that  Mr.  Henderson,  just 
as  sober  and  correct,  and  a  great  deal  more  cultivated  and 
agreeable." 

"  How  absurd  of  you,  my  daughter !    Mr.  Henderson  has 


368  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

not  anything  to  support  a  wife  on.  He  is  a  good  moral 
young  man,  I  admit,  and  agreeable,  and  has  talent  and  all 
that ;  but  my  dear  Eva,  you  are  not  fitted  to  contend  with 
poverty.  You  must  marry  a  man  that  can  support  you  in 
the  position  that  you  have  always  been  in." 

"  Whether  I  love  him  or  not,  mamma  ?" 

"  My  dear  Eva,  you  would,  of  course,  love  your  husband. 
A  man  that  is  able  to  take  care  of  you  and  get  you  every- 
thing that  you  want— give  you  every  wish  of  your  heart— 
you  would  love  of  course." 

"  Well,  mamma,  I  have  got  a  man  that  does  exactly  that 
for  me,  now,"  said  Eva,  "  and  I  don't  need  another.  That's 
just  what  papa  does  for  me.  And  now,  when  I  marry,  I 
want  a  companion  that  suits  me.  I  have  got  now  all  the 
bracelets,  and  jewelry,  and  finger  rings  that  I  can  think  of  ; 
and  if  I  wanted  forty  more  I  could  tease  them  out  of  papa 
any  day,  or  kiss  them  out  of  him.  Pa  always  gets  me  every- 
thing I  want ;  so  I  don't  see  what  I  want  of  Mr,  Sydney.'' 

"Well,  how,  my  dear  Eva,  I  must  speak  to  you  seriously. 
You  are  olcl  enough  now  not  to  be  talked  to  like  a  child. 
The  fact  is,  my  darling,  there  is  nothing  so  insecure  as 
our  life  here.  Your  father,  my  love,  is  reported  to  be  a 
great  deal  richer  than  he  is.  Of  course  we  have  to  keep 
up  the  idea,  because  it  helps  his  business.  But  the  last  two 
or  three  years  he  has  met  with  terrible  losses,  and  I  have 
seen  him  sometimes  so  nervous  about  our  family  expendi- 
tures that,  really,  there  was  no  comfort  in  life.  But,  then, 
we  had  this  match  in  view.  We  supposed,  of  course,  that 
it  was  coming  off.  And  such  a  splendid  settlement  on  you 
would  help  the  family  every  way.  Mr.  Sydney  is  a  very 
generous  man;  and  the  use  of  his  capital,  the  credit  that 
the  marriage  would  give  to  your  father  in  business  circles, 
would  be  immense.  And  then,  my  child,  just  think  of  the 
establishment  you  would  have !  Why,  there  is  not  such  an 
establishment  in  the  country  as  his  place  on  the  North 
River !  You  saw  it  yesterday.  What  could  you  ask  more  ? 
And  there  is  thai;  villa  at  Newport.  You  might  be  there  in 
the  Summer,  and  have  all  you  sisters  there.  And  he  is  a 


WEALTH  versus  LOVE.  3GO 

man  of  the  most  splendid  taste  as  to  equipages  and  furni- 
ture, and  everything  of  that  sort.  And  as  I  said  before,  he 
is  a  good  man." 

"  But,  mamma,  mamma,  it  will  never  do.  Not  if  he  had 
the  East  and  West  Indies.  All  that  can't  buy  your  little 
Eva.  Tell  me,  now,  mamma  dear,  was  pa  a  rich  man  when 
you  married  him — I  mean  when  you  fell  in  love  with  him  f 

"  Well,  no,  dear,  not  very  ;  though  people  always  said  that 
he  was  a  man  that  would  rise." 

"But  you  didn't  begin  in  a  house  like  this,  mamma. 
You  began  at  the  beginning  and  helped  him  up,  didn't 
you  f ' 

"  Well,  yes,  dear,  we  did  begin  in  a  quiet  way ;  and  I  had 
to  live  pretty  carefully  the  first  years  of  my  life ;  and 
worked  hard,  and  know  all  about  it;  and  I  want  to  save 
you  from  going  through  the  same  that  I  did." 

"  May  be  if  you  did  I  should  not  turn  out  as  you  are  now. 
But  really,  mother,  if  pa  is  embarrassed,  why  do  we  live 
so  ?  Why  don't  we  economize  ?  I  am  sure  I  am  willing  to." 

"  Oh,  darling !  we  mustn't.  We  mustn't  make  any  change ; 
because,  if  the  idea  should  cnce  get  running  that  there  is 
any  difficulty  about  money,  everybody  would  be  down  on 
your  father.  We  have  to  keep  everything  goiug,  and 
everything  up,  or  else  things  would  go  abroad  that  would 
injure  his  credit;  and  he  could  not  get  money  for  his 
operations.  He  is  engaged  in  great  operations  now  that 
will  bring  in  millions  if  they  succeed^ 

"  And  if  they  don't  succeed,"  said  Eva,  "then  I  suppose 
that  we  shall  lose  millions— is  that  it?" 

"  Well,  dear,  it  is  just  as  I  tell  you,  we  rich  people  live  on 
a  very  uncertain  eminence,  and  for  that  reason  I  wanted  to 
see  my  darling  daughter  settled  securely." 

"  Well,  mamma,  now  I  will  tell  you  what  I  have  been 
thinking  of.  Since  '  riches  make  to  themselves  wings  and 
fly  away,'  what  is  the  sense  of  marrying  a  man  whose  main 
recommendation  is,  that  he  is  rich?  Because  that  is  the 
thing  that  makes  Mr.  Sydney  more,  for  instance,  than  Mr. 


370  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

Henderson,  or  any  other  nice  gentleman  we  know.  Now 
what  if  I  should  marry  Mr.  Sydney,  who,  to  say  the  truth, 
dear  mamma,  I  do  not  fancy,  and  who  is  rather  tiresome 
to  me — and  then  some  fine  morning  his  banks  should  fail, 
his  railroads  burst  up,  and  his  place  on  the  North  River, 
and  his  villa  at  Newport  have  to  be  sold,  and  he  and  I 
have  to  take  a  little  unfashionable  house  together,  and 
rough  it — what  then?  Why,  then,  when  it  came  to  that, 
I  should  wish  that  I  had  chosen  a  more  entertaining  com- 
panion. For  there  isn't  a  thing  that  I  am  interested  in 
that  I  can  talk  with  him  about.  You  see,  dear  mother, 
we  have  to  take  it  '  for  better  or  for  worse ;'  and  as  there 
is  always  danger  that  the  wheel  may  turn,  by  and  by 
it  may  come  so  that  we'll  have  nothing  but  the  man  him- 
self left.  It  seems  to  me  that  we  should  choose  our  man 
with  great  care.  He  should  be  like  the  pearl  of  great 
price,  the  Bible  speaks  of,  for  whom  we  would  be  glad 
to  sell  everything.  It  should  be  somebody  we  could  be 
happy  with  if  we  lost  all  beside.  And  when  I  many, 
mother,  it  will  be  with  a  man  that  I  feel  is  ail  that  to  me." 

"Well,  Eva  dear, where'll  you  find  such  a  man  ?" 

"  What  if  I  had  found  him,  mother— or  thought  I  had  ?" 

"  What  do  you  mean,  child  f 

"  Mother,  I  have  found  the  man  that  I  love,  and  he  loves 
me,  and  we  are  engaged." 

"  Eva,  child !  I  would  not  have  thought  this  of  you. 
Why  haven't  you£>ld  me  before?" 

"Because,  mamma,  it  was  only  this  afternoon  that  I 
found  out  that  he  loved  me  and  wanted  me  to  be  his  wife." 

"And  may  I  presume  to  ask  now  \? ho  it  is?"  said  Mrs. 
Van  Arsdel,  in  a  tone  of  pique. 

"  Dear  mother,  it  is  Harry  Henderson." 

"  Mr.  Henderson !  Well,  I  do  think  that  is  too  dishonor- 
able ;  when  I  told  him  your  relations  with  Mr.  Sydney." 

"  Mother,  you  gave  him  to  understand  that  I  was  en- 
gaged to  Mr.  Sydney,  and  I  told  him,  this  afternoon,  that 
I  was  not,  and  never  would  be.  He  was  honorable.  After 
you  had  that  conversation  with  him,  he  avoided  our  house 


WEALTH  versus  L 0  VE.  o  7 1 

a  long  time,  and  avoided  me.  I  was  wretched  about  it, 
and  he  was  wretched;  but  this  afternoon  we  met  acci- 
dentally in  the  Park;  and  I  insisted  on  knowing  from  him 
why  he  avoided  us  so.  And,  at  last,  I  found  out  all ;  and 
he  found  out  all.  We  understand  each  other  perfectly  now, 
and  nothing  can  ever  come  between  us.  Mother,  I  would 
go  with  him  to  the  ends  of  the  earth.  There  is  nothing 
that  I  do  not  feel  able  to  do  or  suffer  for  him.  And  I 
am  glad  and  proud  of  myself  to  know  that  I  can  love  him 
as  I  do." 

"  Oh  well,  poor  child !  I  do  not  know  what  we  shall  do," 
said  Mrs.  Van  Arsdel,  with  profound  dejection. 

"  Deary  mother,  I  will  do  everything  I  can  to  help  you, 
and  everything  I  can  to  help  papa.  I  do  not  believe 
there  is  one  of  us  children  that  would  not.  And  I  think 
it  is  true,  what  Ida  is  always  telling  us,  that  it  would  be 
a  great  deal  better  for  us  if:  we  had  less,  and  had  to  depend 
on  ourselves  and  use  our  own  faculties  more.  There  are 
the  boys  in  college ;  there  is  no  need  of  their  having  spend - 
ing-money  as  they  do.  And  I  know  if  papa  would  tell 
them  of  his  difficulties  it  would  make  men  of  them,  just 
as  it  would  make  a  woman  of  me." 

"Well,  I  do  not  know,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Arsdel.  "You* 
father  has  not  told  me  of  any  particular  embarrassments, 
only  I  see  he  is  anxious  and  nervous,  and  I  know  him  so 
well  that  I  always  know  when  his  affairs  trouble  him.  And 
this  is  a  great  blow  to  me,  Eva."  , 

"Well,  dear  mother,  I  am  very  sorry  it  is  so;  but  I 
cannot  help  it.  It  would  be  wicked  for  me,  mother,  to 
marry  any  other  man  when  I  love  Harry  as  I  do.  Love 
is  not  a  glove  that  you  can  take  off  as  you  please.  It  is 
something  very  different.  Now,  with  him,  I  never  felt 
tired.  I  always  like  to  be  with  him ;  I  always  like  to  talk 
with  him ;  he  never  makes  me  nervous ;  I  never  wish  he 
was  gone ;  he  can  always  understand  me,  and  1  can  under- 
stand him.  We  can  almost  tell  what  the  other  is  thinking 
of  without  speaking.  And  I  will  risk  our  not  being  happy 


372  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

together.  So  please  do,  dear  mother,  look  a  little  cheerful 
about  it.  Let  me  be  happy  in  my  own  way." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  must,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Arsdel,  with  a 
deep  sigh,  taking  up  the  lamp.  "  You  always  did  have 
your  own  way,  Eva." 

"Oh,  well,  mother  dear;  some  day  you'll  be  glad  of  it. 
Good  night." 


FURTHER  CONSULTATIONS.  373 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

FURTHER      CONSULTATIONS. 

|FTER  the  departure  of  her  mother,  Eva  in  vain 
tried  to  compose  herself  to  sleep.    Her  cheeks 
were  flushed,  and  her  brain  was  in  a  complete 
whirl.    Her  mother  had  said  and  hinted  just  enough  about 
the  financial  condition  of  the  family  to  fill  her  with  vague 
alarms.    She  walked  uneasily  up  and  down  her  luxurious 
chamber,  all    whose  appointments  spoke   of  wealth  and 
taste;  and  it  was  with  an  unpleasant  feeling  of  insecurity 
that  she  regarded  the  pictures  and  statues  and  sofas,  and 
all  the  charming  arrangements,  in  perfecting   which  her 
father  had  always  allowed  her  carte  blanche  as  to  money. 
She  reflected  uneasily,  that  in  making  all  these  expensive 
arrangements,  she  had  ordered  simply  what  pleased  her 
fancy,  without  inquiry  as  to  price,  and  without  ever  glanc- 
ing over  a  bill  to  know  the  result ;  and  now,  she  found  her- 
self affianced  to  a  young  man  without  any  other  resources 
than  those  which  must  come  from  the  exertion  of  his  tal- 
ents, seconded  by  prudence  and  economy.    And  here,  again, 
offered  to  her  acceptance,  was  another  marriage,  which 
would  afford  her  the  means  of  gratifying  every  taste,  and 
of  continuing  to  live  in  all  those  habits  of  easy  luxury 
and  careless  expenses  that  she  could  not  but  feel  were  very 
agreeable  to  her.    Not  for  one  moment  did  she  feel  an 
inclination,  or  a  temptation,  to  purchase  that  luxury,  and 
that  ease,  by  the  sale  of  herself ;  but  still,  when  she  thought 
of  her  lover— of  the  difficulties  that  he  must  necessarily 
meet,  of  the  cares  which  she  must  bring  upon  him— she 
asked  herself,  "Was  it  not  an  act  of  injustice  to  him  t> 
burden  him  with  so  incapable  and  helpless  a  wife,  as  she 
feared  she  should  prove  T' 


374  MY  WIFE  AND  1. 

"But  T  am  not  incapable,"  she  said  to  herself,  "and  I 
will  not  be  helpless.  I  have  strength  in  me,  and  I  will  use 
it ;  I  will  show  that  I  am  good  for  something.  I  wonder  if 
it  is  true  that  papa  is  embarrassed.  If  he  is,  I  wish  he 
would  trust  us ;  I  wish  he  would  tell  us  at  once,  and  let 
us  help  him  economize.  I  would  do  it ;  I  am  sure  we  all 
would  do  it." 

It  was  in  vain,  under  the  pressure  of  these  thoughts, 
to  try  to  compose  herself  to  sleep  ;  and,  at  last,  she  passed 
into  her  sister  Ida's  room,  who,  with  her  usual  systematic 
regularity  as  to  hours,  had  for  a  long  time  been  in  the  en- 
joyment of  quiet  slumber. 

"  Ida,  dear !"  she  said,  stooping  over  and  speaking  to  her 
sister,  "  Ida,  look  here !" 

Ida  opened  her  eyes,  and  sat  up  in  bed.  "  Why  Eva, 
child  not  gone  to  bed  yet  *?  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ? 
You  will  certainly  ruin  your  health  with  these  irregular 
hours." 

"  Oh  Ida,  I  am  so  nervous  I  can't  sleep !    I  am  sorry  to 
disturb  you     but,  indeed,  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about 
something  that  worries  me  ;  and  you  know  you  are  always 
gone  before  I  am  up  in  the  morning." 
"  Well,  dear,  what  is  it  ?"  said  Ida,  stroking  her  head. 
"Do  you   know  mamma   has  just  been  into  my  room 
with  a  letter  from  Mr.  Sydney.     He  is  coming  into  the 
field  again,  and  has  written  to  mamma,  and  mamma  has 
been  in  talking  to  me  till  I  am  just  ready  to  cry.     Now, 
Ida,  you  know  all  that  took  place  between  Mr.  Henderson 
and  me  yesterday  in  the  Park  ;   we  are  engaged,  are  we 
not,  as  much  as  two  people  can  be  ?" 
"Certainly  you  are,"  said  Ida,  decisively. 
"  Well  now,  mamma  is  so  distressed  and  disappointed." 
'•  You  told  her  about  it,  then  ?"  said  Ida. 
"  Certainly ;  yes,  I  told  her  all  about  it ;  and  oh,  Ida ! 
what  do  you  think  ?  mamma  really  made   me  feel  as  if 
something  dreadful  \vas  going  to  happen  in  the  family,  that 
papa  was  getting  embarrassed  in  his  business,  and  perhaps 
we  might  all  fail  and  come  to  ruin  if  I  did  not  help  him 


FURTHER  CONSULTATIONS.  375 

by  marrying  Mr.  Sydney.    Now,  do  you  think  it  would  be 
right  for  me  ?    It  certainly  can  not  be  my  duty!" 

"  Ask  yourself  that  question,"  said  Ida  ;  "  think  what  you 
must  promise  and  vow  in  marriage." 

"  To  be  sure !  and  how  wicked  it  would  be  to  promise 
and  vow  all  that  to  one  man  when  I  know  that  I  love  anoth- 
er one  better !" 

"Then,"  said  Ida,  "asking  a  woman  to  take  false  mar- 
riage vows  to  save  her  family,  or  her  parents  from  trouble, 
is  just  like  asking  her  to  eteal  money,  or  forge  a  false  note 
•  to  gave  them.    Eva,  you  cannot  do  it." 

"Well,"  said  Eva, "  that  is  what  I  told  mamma.  But,  Ida 
dear,  is  it  really  true,  do  you  think,  that  papa  is  troubled  in 
his  business  ?" 

"  Papa  is  not  a  man  that  would  speak  freely  to  any  woman 
on  business  matters,"  said  Ida,  "not  even  to  me;  but  I 
know  that  his  liabilities  and  ventures  are  terrific;  and. 
nothing  would  surprise  me  less  than  to  have  this  whole  air- 
castle  that  we  have  been  living  in  dissolve  like  a  morning 
mist,  and  let  us  down  on  the  pavement.  All  I  have  to  say 
is,  that  if  it  comes  it  is  just  what  I  have  been  preparing  for 
alt  my  life.  I  have  absolutely  refused  to  be  made  such  a 
helpless  doll  as  young  girls  in  our  position  commonly  are. 
I  have  determined  that  I  would  keep  my  faculties  bright, 
and  my  bodily  hsalth  firm  and  strong;  and  that  all  thes 
luxuries  should  not  become  a  necessity  to  me,  so  but  what 
1  could  take  care  of  myself,  and  take  care  of  others,  without 
them.  And  all  I  have  to  say  is,  if  a  crash  comes  it  will  find 
tiie  ready,  and  it  won't  crush  me." 

"But,  Ida,  don't  you  think  it  would  be  a  great  deal  better 
if  we  would  all  begin  now  to  economize,  and  live  very 
differently  ?  Why,  I  am  sure  1  would  be  willing  to  move 
out  of  this  house,  and  rent  it,  or  sell  it,  and  live  in  a  smaller 
one,  and  give  up  the  carriages  and  horses.  We  could  live  a 
great  deal  cheaper  and  more  quietly  than  we  do,  and  >  et 
have  everything  that  I  care  about.  Yes,  I'd  even  rather  sell 
the  pictures— all  except  a  few— and  feel  safe  and  independ- 


376  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

ent,  than  to  live  in  this  sort  of  glittering,  uncertain  way, 
and  be  pressed  to  marry  a  man  that  I  do  not  love,  for  the 
sake  of  getting  out  of  it." 

"  Well,  dear,"  said  Ida,  "  you  never  will  get  Aunt  Maria  to 
let  ma  stop  running  this  race  with  the  Elmores  till  the  last 
gun  fires,  and  the  ship  is  ready  to  sink ;  that's  the  whole 
of  it.  It  is  what  people  will  say,  and  the  thought  of  being 
pitied  by  their  set,  and  being  beaten  in  the  race,  that  will 
go  further  than  anything  else.  It'  you  talk  about  any  draw- 
ing in  of  expenses,  they  say  that  we  must  not  do  anything 
of  the  sort — that  it  will  injure  papa's  credit.  Now  I  know  • 
enough  of  what  things  cost,  and  what  business  estimates 
are,  to  know  that  we  are  spending  at  a  tremendous  rate.  If 
we  had  an  entailed  estate  settled  upon  us  with  an  annual 
income  of  two  or  three  hundred  thousand  dollars,  there 
might  be  some  sense  in  living  as  we  do  ;  but  when  all  de- 
pends on  the  value  of  stocks  that  are  going  up  to-day  and 
down  to-morrow,  there  is  never  any  knowing  what  may 
happen ;  and  that  is  what  I  have  always  felt.  Father  made 
a  lucky  hit  by  investing  in  stocks  that  doubled,  and  trebled, 
and  quadrupled  in  value ;  but  now,  there  is  a  combination 
against  them,  and  they  are  falling.  I  know  it  gives  father 
great  anxiety ;  and,  as  I  said  before,  I  should  not  wonder  in 
the  least— nothing  would  surprise  me  less,  than  that  we 
should  have  a  great  crisis  one  of  these  times." 

"  Poor  Harry !"  said  Eva,  "it  was  the  thought  of  my  being 
an  heiress  that  made  him  hesitate  so  long ;  perhaps  he'll 
have  a  chance  to  take  me  without  that  obstacle.  Ida,  do 
you  think  it  would  be  right  and  just  in  me  to  let  him  take 
such  an  inefficient  body  as  I  am*?  Am  I  quite  spoiled,  do 
you  think— past  all  redemption  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,  darling!"  said  Ida ;  " I  have  good  hopes  of  you. 
In  the  first  place,  a  woman  that  has  strength  of  mind 
enough  to  be  true  to  her  love  against  all  the  pressure  that 
has  been  brought  to  bear  on  you,  has  strength  of  mind  to  do 
anything  that  may  be  required  of  her.  Of  course,  dear,  it 
will  come  to  the  practical  point  of  living  in  an  entirely  dif- 
ferent style  from  what  we  now  live  in ;  and  you  must  count 


FURTHER  CONSULTATIONS.  377 

the  cost.  Iii  the  first  place,  you  must  give  up  fashionable 
society  altogether.  You  must  consent  to  be  pitied  and 
wondered  at  as  one  that  has  fallen  out  of  her  sphere  and 
gone  down  in  the  world.  All  the  Mrs.  Grundys  will  stop 
calling  on  you ;  and  you  won't  have  any  turn-out  in  the 
Park ;  and  you  may  have  to  take  a  small  house  on  an  un- 
fashionable street,  and  give  your  mind  to  the  business  of 
calculating  expenses,  and  watching  outgoes  and  incomes." 

"  Well,  now,  seriously,  Ida,  I  shouldn't  mind  these  things 
a  bit.  I  don't  care  a  penny  for  Mrs.  Grundy,  nor  her  works 
and  ways.  As  to  the  little  house,  there'll  be  the  less  care  to 
keep  it ;  and  as  to  its  being  on  an  unfashionable  street,  what 
do  I  care  for  that  ?  Nobody  that  I  really  care  for  would  fait 
to  come  and  see  me,  let  me  live  where  I  would.  And  Harry 
and  I  just  agree  in  our  views  of  life.  We  are  not  going  to 
live  for  the  world,  but  for  ourselves  and  our  friends.  We'll 
have  the  nicest  little  home,  where  every  true  friend  of  ours 
shall  i  eel  as  much  at  homo  as  we  do.  And  don't  you  think, 
Ida,  that  I  should  make  a  good  manager  ?  Oh !  I  know  that 
I  could  ma.ke  a  house  pretty — charming — on  ever  so  little 
money,  just  as  I  get  up  a  Spring  hat,  sometimes,  out  of  odds 
and  ends;  and  I  quite  like  the  idea  of  having  it  to  do.  Of 
course,  poor  papa,  I  don't  want  him  to  fail ;  and  I  hope  he 
won't ;  but  I'm  something  like  you,  Ida,  if  all  should  go  to 
ruin,  I  feel  as  if  I  could  stand  up,  now,  that  I  have  got  Har- 
ry to  stand  up  with  me.  We  can  begin  quietly  at  first,  and 
make  our  fortune  together.  I  have  thought  of  ever  so 
many  things  that  I  could  do  for  him  to  help  him.  Do  you 
know,  Ida,— (I  rather  guess  you'll  laugh)— that  I  brought 
home  his  gloves  and  mended  them  this  very  evening  1  I 
told  him  I  was  going  to  begin  to  take  care  of  him.  You  see 
I'll  make  it  cheaper  for  him  in  a  thousand  ways — I  know  I 
can.  He  never  shall  find  me  a  burden.  I  am  quite  impa- 
tient to  be  able  to  show  what  I  can  do.7' 

"  To  begin,  darling,"  said  Ida,  "  one  thing  you  must  do  is, 
to  take  care  of  your  body ;  no  late  hours  to  waste  your 
little  brain.  And  so  don't  you  think  you  had  better  go  to 
your  room  and  go  quietly  to  sleep  I" 


378  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

"  Oh  Ida !  I  ain  going  to  be  so  good  and  so  regular  after 
to-night ;  but  to-night,  you  know,  is  a  kind  of  exception. 
Girls  don't  get  engaged  every  day  of  their  lives,  and  so  you 
must  forgive  me  if  I  do  make  a  run  upon  you  to-nigbt. 
The  fact  is,  what  with  my  talk  with  Harry  this  afternoon, 
and  with  mamma  to-night,  and  all  the  fuss  that  I  see  im- 
pending, my  eyes  are  just  as  wide  open  as  they  can  be ;  and 
I  don't  believe  I  could  go  to  sleep  if  I  were  to  try.  Oh  Ida ! 
Harry  told  me  all  about  his  mother,  and  all  about  that 
handsome  cousin  of  his,  that  he  has  spoken  of  so  many 
times.  Do  you  know  I  used  to  have  such  worries  of  mind 
about  that  cousin?  I  was  psrfectly  sure  that  she  stood  in 
my  way.  And  now,  Ida,  I  have  a  most  capital  idea  about 
her!  She  wants  to  go  to  France  to  study,  just  as  you  do  ; 
and  how  nice  it  would  be  if  you  could  join  company  and  go 
together." 

"It  would  be  pleasant,"  said  Ida.  "I  must  confess  I 
don't  like  the  idea  of  being  'damsel  errant,1  wandering  off 
entirely  alone  in  the  world;  and  if  I  leave  you,  darling,  I 
shall  want  somebody  to  speak  to.  But  come,  my  dear  little 
pussy,  you  must  lie  down  and  shut  your  eyes,  and  oay  your 
prayers,  and  try  to  go  to  sleep." 

"  You  darling  good  little  doctor,  you,"  said  Eva,  "it  is  too 
bad  of  me  to  keep  you  up  !  There,  I  will  be  good — see  how 
good  I  am!  Good  night"— and  kissing  her  sister,  she 
sought  her  own  apartment. 


MAKING  LOVE  TO  ONE'S  FATHER-IN-LAW.  379 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

MAKING  LOVE  TO  ONE7S    FATHER-IN-LAW. 

!IFE  lias  many  descents  from  romance  to  reality 
that  are  far  from  agreeable.  But  every  exalted 
hour,  and  every  charming  passage  in  our  mortal 
pilgrimage,  is  a  luxury  that  has  to  be  paid  for  with  some- 
thing disagreeable.  The  German  story  teller,  Tieck,  has 
a  pretty  legend  of  a  magical  region  where  were  marvelous 
golden  castles,  and  fountains,  and  flowers,  and  bright- 
winged  elves,  living  a  life  of  ceaseless  pleasure ;  but  all 
this  was  visible  only  to  the  anointed  eyes  of  some  favored 
mortal  to  whom  was  granted  the  vision.  To  all  others 
this  elfin  country  was  a  desolate  wilderness.  I  had  had 
given  me  within  a  day  or  two  that  vision  of  Wonderland, 
and  wandered — scarce  knowing  whether  in  the  body  or 
out — in  its  enchanted  bowers.  The  first  exhilarating  joy 
of  the  moment  when  every  mist  rose  up  from  the  landscape 
of  love;  when  there  was  perfect  understanding,  perfect 
union,  perfect  rest;  was  something  that  transfigured  life. 
But  having  wandered  in  this  blessed  country  and  spoken 
the  tongue  of  angels,  I  was  now  to  return  to  every-day 
regions  and  try  to  translate  its  marvels  and  mysteries  into 
the  vernacular  of  mortals.  In  short,  1  was  to  wait  upon  Mr- 
Van  Arsdel  and  ask  of  him  the  hand  of  his  daughter. 

Now  however  charming,  with  suitable  encouragement, 
to  make  love  to  a  beautiful  lady,  making  love  to  a 
prospective  father-in-law  is  quite  another  matter. 

Men  are  not  as  a  general  thing  inclined  to  look  sympa- 
thetically on  other  men  in  love  with  any  fine  woman  of 
their  acqaintance,  and  are  rather  provoked  than  otherwise 
to  have  them  accepted.  "What  any  woman  can  see  in 
that  fellow  P  is  a  sort  of  standing  problem.  But  posses- 


380  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

sors  of  datighters,  are,  a  fortiori,  enemies  ready  made  to 
every  pretender  to  tbeir  hands.  My  own  instincts  made 
me  aware  of  this,  and  I  could  easily  fancy  that  had  I  a 
daughter  like  Eva  I  should  be  ready  to  shoot  the  fellow 
who  came  to  take  her  from  me. 

Mr.  Van  Arsdel,  it  is  true,  had  showed  me,  hitherto, 
in  his  quiet  way,  marked  favor.  He  was  seldom  much  of 
a  talker,  though  a  shrewd  observer  of  all  that  was  said 
by  others.  He  had  listened  silently  to  all  our  discussions 
and  conversations  in  Ida's  library,  and  oftentimes  to  the 
reading  of  the  articles  I  had  subjected  to  the  judgment 
of  the  ladies ;  sometimes,  though  very  rarely,  interposing 
little  bits  of  common  sense  criticism  which  showed  keen 
good  sense,  and  knowledge  of  the  world. 

Mr.  Van  Arsdel,  like  many  of  our  merchant  princes, 
had  come  from  a  rural  district,  and  an  early  experience 
of  the  hard  and  frugal  life  of  a  farm.  Good  sense,  acute 
observation,  an  ability  to  take  wide  and  clear  views  of 
men  and  things,  and  an  incorruptible  integrity,  had  been 
the  means  of  his  rise  to  his  present  elevation.  He  was  a 
true  American  man  in  another  respect,  and  that  was  his 
devotion  to  women.  In  America,  where  we  have  a  clear 
democracy,  women  hold  that  influence  over  men  that  is 
exerted  by  the  aristocracy  in  other  coantries.  They  are 
something  to  be  looked  up  to,  petted,  and  courted.  The 
human  mind  seems  to  require  something  of  this  kind. 
The  faith  and  fealty  that  the  middle-class  Englishman 
has  toward  his  nobility  is  not  all  snobbery.  It  has  some- 
thing of  poetry  in  it— it  is  his  romance  of  life.  Up  in  those 
aiiy  regions  where  walk  the  nobility,  he  is  at  liberty  to 
fancy  some  higher,  finer  types  of  manhood  and  woman- 
hood than  he  sees  in  the  ordinary  ways  of  life,  and  he 
adores  the  unseen  and  unknown.  The  American  life 
would  become  vulgar  and  common-place  did  not  a  chival- 
rous devotion  to  women  come  in  to  supply  the  place  of 
recognized  orders  of  nobility.  The  true  democrat  sees  no 


MAKING  LOVE  TO  ONE'S  FATHER-IN-LAW.  381 

superior  in  rank  among  men,  but  all  women  are  by 
courtesy  his  superiors. 

Mr.  Van  Arsdel  had  married  a  beauty  and  a  belle. 
When  she  chose  him  from  among  a  crowd  of  suitors  he 
could  scarcely  believe  his  own  eyes  or  ears,  or  help  marvel- 
iugat  the  wondrous  grace  of  the  choice;  and,  as  he  told 
her  so,  Mrs.  Van  Arsdel  believed  him,  and  their  subsequent 
life  was  arranged  on  that  understanding.  The  Van  Arsd<-l 
house  was  an  empire  where  women  ruled,  though  as  the 
queen  was  a  pretty,  motherly  woman,  her  reign  was  easy 
and  flowery. 

Mr.  Van  Arsdel  delighted  in  the  combinations  of  busi- 
ness for  its  own  pake.  It  was  his  form  of  mental  activity. 
He  liked  the  effort,  the  strife,  the  care,  the  labor,  (lie 
success  of  winning;  but  when  money  was  once  won  he 
cared  not  a  copper  for  all  those  forms  of  luxury  and 
show,  for  the  pride,  pomp,  and  circumstance  of  fashion, 
which  were  all  in  all  to  his  wife. 

In  his  secret  heart  he  considered  the  greater  part  of 
the  proceedings  in  and  about  his  splendid  establishment  as 
a  rather  expensive  species  of  humbug;  but  then  it  was 
what  the  women  wanted  and  desired,  and  he  took  it  all 
quietly  and  without  comment.  I  felt  somewhat  nervous 
when  I  asked  a  private  interview  with  him.  in  Ida's 
library. 

"I  have  told  mamma,  Harry,"  whispered  Eva,  "and  she 
is  beginning  to  get  over  it." 

Mrs.  Van  Arsdel  received  me  with  an  air  of  patient  en- 
durance, as  if  I  had  been  the  toothache  or  any  of  the  other 
inevitable  inflictions  of  life,  Miss  Alice  was  distant  and 
reserved,  and  only  Ida  was  cordial. 

I  found  Mr.  Van  Arsdel  dry,  cold,  and  wary,  not  in  the 
least  encouraging  any  sentimental  effusion,  and  therefore  I 
proceeded  to  speak  to  him  with  as  matter-of-fact  diiectness 
as  if  the  treaty  related  to  a  bag  of  wool. 

"  Mr.  Van  Arsdel,  I  love  your  daughter.  She  has  honored 
me  so  far  as  to  accept  of  my  love,  and  I  have  her  permission 
ro  ask  your  consent  to  our  lunrriage. ' 


382  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

He  took  off  his  spectacles,  wiped  them  deliberately  while 
I  was  speaking,  and  coughed  drily. 

"  Mr.  Henderson,"  he  said,  "  1  have  always  had  a  great 
respect  for  you  so  far  as  I  knew  you,  but  I  must  confess  I 
don't  know  why  I  should  want  to  give  you  my  daughter." 

"  Simply,  sir,  because  in  the  order  of  nature  you  must 
give  her  to  somebody,  and  I  have  the  honor  to  be  chosen 
by  her." 

"  Eva  could  do  better,  her  mother  thinks." 

"  I  am  aware  that  Miss  Van  Arsdel  could  marry  a  man 
with  more  money  than  I  have,  but  none  who  would  love 
her  more  or  be  more  devoted  to  her  happiness.  Besides 
I  have  the  honor  to  be  the  man  of  her  choice,  and  per- 
haps you  may  be  aware  that  Miss  Eva  is  a  young  lady 
of  very  decided  preferences." 

He  smiled  drily,  and  looked  at  me  with  a  funny  twinkle 
in  his  eye. 

"  Eva  has  always  been  used  to  having  her  own  way,"  he 
remarked. 

"  Then,  my  dear  sir,  T  must  beg  leave  to  say  that  the 
choice  of  a  companion  for  life  is  a  place  where  a  lady  has 
a  good  right  to  insist  on  her  own  way." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Henderson,  you  may  be  right.  But  perhaps 
her  parents  ought  to  insist  that  she  shall  not  make  an 
imprudent  marriage." 

"  Mr.  Van  Arsdel,  I  do  not  conceive  that  I  am  proposing 
an  imprudent  marriage.  1  have  not  wealth  to  offer,  it  is 
true,  but  I  have  a  reasonable  prospect  of  being  able  to 
support  a  wife  and  family.  I  have  good  firm  health,  I 
have  good  business  habits,  I  have  a  profession  which  al- 
ready assures  me  a  certain  income,  and  an  influential 
position  in  society." 

"  What  do  you  call  your  profession  ?" 

"  Literature,"  I  replied. 

He  looked  skeptical,  and  I  added—"  Yes,  Mr.  Van  Arsdel, 
in  our  day  literature  is  a  profession  in  which  one  may  hope 
for  both  fame  and  money." 

"  It  is  rather  an  uncertain  one,  isn't  it  f  said  he. 


MAKING  LOVE  TO  ONE'S  FATHER-IN-LAW.  383 

"I  think  not.  A  business  "which  proposes  to  supply  a 
great,  permanent,  constantly  increasing  demand  you  must 
admit  to  be  a  good  one.  The  demand  for  current  read- 
ing is  just  as  wide  and  steady  as  any  demand  of  our  life, 
and  the  men  who  undertake  to  supply  it  have  as  certain  a 
business  as  those  that  undertake  to  supply  cotton  cloth, 
or  railroad  iron.  At  this  day  fortunes  are  being  made  in 
and  by  literature." 

Mr.  Van  Arsdel  drummed  on  the  table  abstractedly 

"  Now,"  said  I,  determined  to  speak  in  the  language  of 
men  and  things,  "  the  case  is  just  this :  If  a  young  man 
of  good,  reliable  habits,  good  health,  and  good  principles, 
has  a  capital  of  seventy  thousand  dollars  invested  in  a  fair 
paying  business,  has  he  not  a  prospect  of  supporting  a 
family  in  comfort*?'7 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Van  Arsdel,  regarding  me  curiously,  "  I 
should  call  that  a  good  beginning." 

"  Well,"  rejoined  I,  "  my  health,  my  education,  my  power 
of  doing  literary  work,  are  this  capital.  They  secure  to  me 
for  the  next  year  an  income  equal  to  that  of  seventy  thou- 
sand dollars  at  ten  per  cent.  Now,  I  think  a  capital  of  that 
amount  invested  in  a  man,  is  quite  as  safe  as  the  same 
sum  invested  in  any  stocks  whatever.  It  seems  to  me 
that  in  our  country  a  man  who  knows  how  to  take  care  of 
his  health  is  less  likely  to  become  unproductive  in  income 
than  any  stock  you  can  name," 

"  There  is  something  in  that,  I  admit,"  replied  Mr.  Van 
Arsdel. 

"  And  there's  something  in  this,  too,  papa,"  said  Eva,  who 
entered  at  this  moment  and  could  not  resist  her  desire  to 
dip  her  oar  in  the  current  of  conversation,  "  and  that  is, 
that  an  investment  that  you  have  got  to  take  for  better  or 
worse  and  can't  sell  or  get  rid  of  all  your  life,  had  better  be 
made  in  something  you  are  sure  you  will  like." 

"  And  are  you  sure  of  that  in  this  case,  Pussy  ?"  said  her 
father,  pinching  her  cheek. 

"  Tolerably,  as  men  go.  Mr.  Henderson  is  the  least  tire- 
some man  of  my  acquaintance,  and  you  know,  papa,  it's 


384  MY  WIFE  AND  L 

time  I  took  somebody;  you  don't  want  me  to  go  into  a 
convent,  do  you  f ' 

"  How  about  poor  Mr.  Sydney  ?" 

"  Poor  Mr.  Sydney  has  just  called,  and  I  have  invited 
him  to  a  private  audience  and  convinced  him  that  I  am 
not,  in  the  least,  the  person  to  make  him  happy — and  he  is 
one  of  the  sort  that  feel  that  it  is  of  the  last  importance 
that  he  should  be  made  happy." 

"Well,  well!  Mr.  Henderson,  T  presume  you  have  seen, 
in  the  course  of  your  observations,  that  this  is  one  of  the 
houses  where  the  women  rule.  You  and  Eva  will  have 
to  settle  it  with  her  mother." 

"  Then  I  am  to  understand,"  exclaimed  I,  "  that,  as  far  as 
you  are  concerned !" 

"  I  submit,"  said  Mr.  Van  Arsdel. 

"  The  ayes  have  it,  then,'7  said  Eva. 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,  young  lady,"  said  Mr.  Van 
Arsdel,  "if  I  may  judge  by  the  way  your  mother  lamented 
to  me  last  night." 

"Oh,  that's  all  Aunt  Maria!  You  see,  papa,  this  is  an 
age  of  revolution,  and  there's  going  to  be  a  revolution  in 
the  Aunt  Maria  dynasty  in  our  house.  She  has  governed 
mamma  and  all  the  rest  of  us  long  enough,  and  now 
she  must  go  down  and  I  must  rule.  Harry  and  I  are  going 
to  start  a  new  era  and  have  things  all  our  own  way.  I'm 
going  to  crown  him  King,  and  he  then  will  crown  me 
Queen,  and  then  we  shall  proceed  to  rule  and  reign  in  our 
own  dominions,  and  Aunt  Maria,  and  Mrs.  Grundy,  and  all 
the  rest  of  them,  may  help  themselves ;  they  can't  hinder 
us.  We  shall  be  happy  in  our  own  way,  without  consulting 
them." 

"  Well,  well !"  said  Mr.  Van  Arsdel,  following  with  an 
amused  eye,  a  pirouette  Eva  executed  at  the  conclusion  of 
her  speech,  "you  young  folks  are  venturesome." 

"  Yes,  papa,  I  am  '  The  woman  who  dared,' "  said  Eva. 

" '  Nothing  venture,  nothing  have,' "  quoted  I. 


MAKING  LOVE  TO  ONE'S  FATHER-IN-LAW.   385 

"  Eva  knows  no  more  about  managing  money  than  a 
this  year's  robin,"  said  her  father. 

"Yet  this  year's  robins  know  how  to  build  respectable 
nests  when  their  time  comes,"  said  she.  "  They  don't  bother 
about  investments  and  stocks  and  all  those  things,  but 
sing  and  have  a  good  time.  It  all  comes  right  for  them, 
and  I  don't  doubt  it  will  for  us." 

"You  have  a  decided  talent  for  spending  money  most 
agreeably,  I  confess,"  said  Mr.  Van  Arsdel. 

"Now,  papa,  it's  too  bad  for  you  to  be  running  down 
your  own  daughter !  I'm  not  appreciated.  I  have  a  world 
of  undeveloped  genius  for  management.  Harry  has  agreed 
to  teach  me  accounts,  and  as  1  belong  to  the  class  who 
always  grow  wiser  than  their  teachers,  I'm  sure  that  before 
six  months  are  over  I  shall  be  able  to  suggest  improved 
methods  to  him.  When  I  get  a  house  you'll  all  be  glad 
to  come  and  see  me,  I  shall  make  it  so  bright  and  sunny 
and  funny,  and  give  you  such  lovely  things  to  eat;  and 
m  my  house  everybody  shall  do  just  as  they  please,  and 
have  their  own  wa<y  if  they  can  find  out  what  it  is.  I 
know  people  will  like  it." 

"I  believe  you,  Pussy,"  said  Mr.  Van  Arsdel;  "but 
houses  don't  grow  on  bushes,  you  know." 

"  Well,  haven't  I  six  thousand  dollars,  all  my  own,  that 
grandma  left  me  *?" 

"And  how  much  of  a  house  do  you  think  that  would 
buy?" 

"  Perhaps  as  big  a  one  as  you  and  mother  began  in." 

"  You  never  would  be  satisfied  with  such  a  house  as  we 
began  in." 

"  Why  not  ?  Are  we  any  better  than  you  were  ?" 

"No.  But  nowadays  no  young  folks  are  contented  to 
do  as  we  did." 

"  Then,  papa,  you  are  going  to  see  a  new  thing  upon  the 
earth,  for  Harry  and  I  am  going  to  be  pattern  folks  for 
being  rational  and  contented.  We  are  going  to  start  out 
on  a  new  tack  and  bring  in  the  golden  age.  But,  bless  me  ! 
there's  Aunt  Maria  coming  down  the  street !  Now,  Harry, 


386  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

comes  the  tug  of  war.  I  am  going  now  to  emancipate  mam- 
ma and  proclaim  the  new  order  of  things,"  and  out  she 
flitted. 

"Mr.  Henderson,"  said  Mr.  Yan  Arsdel,  when  she  had 
gone,  "I  think  it  is  about  certain  that  I  am  to  look  on  you 
as  a  future  member  of  our  family.  I'll  be  fair  with  you, 
that  you  may  take  steps  with  your  eyes  open.  My  daughters 
are  supposed  to  be  heiresses,  but,  as  things  are  tending, 
in  a  very  short  time  I  may  be  put  back  to  where  I  started 
in  life  and  have  all  to  begin  over.  My  girls  will  have 
nothing.  I  see  such  a  crisis  impending  and  I  have  no 
power  to  help  it."' 

"My  dear  sir,"  said  I,  "while  I  shall  be  sorry  for  your 
trouble,  and  hope  it  may  not  come,  I  shall  be  only  too  glad 
to  prove  my  devotion  to  Eva." 

"It  is  evident,"  said  Mr.  Arsdel,  "  that  her  heart  is  set  on 
you,  and,  after  all,  the  only  true  comfort  is  in  having  the  one 
you  want.  I  myself  never  cared  for  fashion,  Mr.  Henderson, 
nor  parties,  nor  any  of  this  kind  of  fuss  and  show  the 
women  think  so  much  of;  and  I  believe  that  Eva  is  a 
little  like  me.  I  like  to  go  back  to  the  old  place  in  summer 
and  eat  huckleberries  and  milk,  and  see  the  cows  come 
home  from  pasture,  and  sit  in  father's  old  arm-chair.  It 
wouldn't  take  so  much  running  and  scheming  and  hard 
thinking  and  care  to  live,  if  folks  were  all  of  my  mind. 
Why,  up  in  New  Hampshire  where  I  came  from,  there's 
scarcely  ever  an  estate  administered  upon  that  figures  up 
more  than  five  thousand  dollars,  and  yet  they  all  live  well — 
have  nice  houses,  nice  tables,  give  money  in  charity,  and 
make  a  good  thing  of  life." 

There  was  something  really  quite  pathetic  in  this  burst 
of  confidence  from  the  worthy  man.  Perhaps  I  was  the 
first  one  to  whom  he  had  confessed  the  secret  apprehen- 
sions with  which  he  was  struggling. 

"  You  see,  Mr.  Henderson,  you  never  can  tell  about  in- 
vestments. Stocks  "hat  seem  to  stand  as  firm  as  the  founda- 
tions of  the  earth,  that  the  very  oldest  and  shrewdest  and 


MAKING  LOVE  TO  ONE'S  FATHER-IN-LAW.   387 

longest-headed  put  into,  run  down  and  depreciate— and 
when  they  get  running  you  can't  draw  out,  you  see.  Now  I 
advanced  capital  for  the  new  Lightning  Line  Eailroad  to  the 
amount  of  two  hundred  thousand,  and  pledged  my  Guate- 
mala stock  for  the  money,  and  then  arose  this  combination 
against  the  Guatemala  stock,  and  it  has  fallen  to  a  fourth 
of  its  value  in  six  months,  and  it  takes  heavy  rowing — 
heavy.  I'd  a  great  deal  rather  be  in  father's  old  place, 
with  an  estate  of  five  thousand  dollars,  and  read  my  news- 
paper in  peace,  than  to  have  all  I  have  with  the  misery  of 
managing  it.  I  may  work  out  and  I  may  not." 


388  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

ACCEPTED    AND   ENGAGED. 

JND  so  at  last  I  was  accepted,  and  my  engagement 
with  Eva  was  recognized  as  a  fait  accompli. 

In  the  family  of  my  betrothed  were  all.  shades 
of  acquiescence.  Mrs.  Van  Arsdel  was  pensively  resigned 
to  me  as  a  mysterious  dispensation  of  Providence.  Mr. 
Van  Arsdel,  though  not  in  any  way  demonstrative,  showed 
an  evident  disposition  to  enter  into  confidential  relations 
with  me.  Ida  was  whole-hearted  and  cordial;  and  Alice, 
after  a  little  reconnoitering,  joined  our  party  as  a  gay, 
generous  young  girl,  naturally  disposed  to  make  the  best 
of  things,  and  favorably  inclined  toward  the  interests  of 
young  lovers. 

Mr.  Trollope,  in  The  Small  House  at  Allington,  represents 
^a  young  man  just  engaged,  as  feeling  himself  in  the  awk- 
ward position  of  a  captive  led  out  in  triumph,  for  exhibition. 
The  lady  and  her  friends  are  spoken  of  as  marching  him 
forth  with  complacency,  like  a  prize  ox  with  ribbons  in  his 
horns,  unable  to  repress  the  exhibition  of  their  delight  in 
having  entrapped  him.  One  would  infer  from  this  picture 
of  life  such  a  scarcity  of  marriageable  men  that  the  capture 
even  of  such  game  as  young  Crosbie,  who  is  represented  to 
be  an  untitled  young  man,  without  fortune  or  principle,  is 
an  occasion  of  triumph. 

In  our  latitudes,  we  of  the  stronger  sex  are  not  taught  to 
regard  ourselves  as  such  overpoweringly  delightful  acquisi- 
tions, and  the  declaration  of  an  engagement  is  not  with  us 
regarded  as  evidence  of  a  lady's  skill  in  hunting.  I  did  not, 
as  young  Crosbie  is  said  to  have  done,  feel  myself  somehow 
caught.  On  the  contrary,  I  was  lost  in  wonder  at  my  good 
fortune.  If  I  had  found  the  pot  of  gold  at  the  end  of  the 


ACCEPTED  AND  ENGAGED.  389 

rainbow,  or  dug  up  the  buried  treasures  of  Captain  Kidd,  I 
could  not  have  seemed  to  myself  more  as  one  who  dreamed. 

I  wrote  all  about  it  to  my  mother,  who,  if  she  judged 
by  my  letters,  must  have  believed  "Hesperian  fables"  true 
for  the  first  time  in  the  world,  and  that  a  woman  had  been 
specially  made  and  created  out  of  all  impossible  and  fabu- 
lous elements  of  joy.  The  child-wife  of  my  early  days, 
the  dream -wife  of  my  youth,  were  both  living1,  moving, 
breathing  in  this  wonderful  reality.  I  tried  to  disguise 
my  good  fortune — to  walk  soberly  and  behave  myself 
among  men  as  if  I  were  sensible  and  rational,  and  not 
dazed  and  enchanted.  I  felt  myself  orbed  in  a  magical 
circle,  out  of  which  I  looked  pityingly  on  everybody  that 
was  not  1.  A  spirit  of  universal  match-making  benevo- 
lence possessed  me.  I  wanted  everybody  I  liked  to  be 
engaged.  I  pitied  and  made  allowances  for  everybody  that 
was  not.  How  could  they  be  happy  or  good  that  had  not 
my  fortune1?  They  had  not,  they  never  could  have,  an 
JEva.  There  was  but  one  Eva,  and  I  had  her  1 

I  woke  every  morning  with  a  strange,  new  thrill  of  joy. 
Was  it  so  ?  Was  she  still  in  this  world,  or  had  this  im- 
possible, strange  mirage  of  bliss  risen  like  a  mist  and 
floated  heavenward  ?  I  trembled  when  I  thought  how  frail 
a  thing  human  life  is.  Was  it  possible  that  she  might  die  ? 
Was  it  possible  that  an  accident  in  a  railroad  car,  a  waft  of 
drapery  toward  an  evening  lamp,  a  thoughtless  false  step, 
a  mistake  in  a  doctor's  prescription,  might  cause  this 
lovely  life  to  break  like  a  bubble,  and  be  utterly  gone,  and 
there  be  no  more  Eva,  never,  nevermore  on  earth?  The 
very  intensity  of  love  and  hope  suggested  the  possibility  of 
the  dreadful  tragedy  that  every  moment  underlies  life; 
that  with  every  joy  connects  the  possibility  of  a  propor- 
tioned pain.  Surely  love,  it'  nothing  else,  inclines  the  soul 
to  feel  its  helplessness  and  be  prayerful,  to  place  its 
treasures  in  a  Father's  hand. 

Sometimes  it  seemed  to  me  too  much  to  hope  for,  that 
she  should  live  to  be  my  wife  ;  that  the  fabulous  joy  of 
possession  should  ever  b<3  mine.  Each  morning  I  left  my 


390  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

bunch  of  fresh  violets  with  a  greeting  in  it  at  her  door,  and 
assured  myself  that  the  earth  yet  retained  her,  and  all  day 
long  I  worked  with  the  undef-thought  of  the  little  boudoir 
where  I  should  meet  her  in  the  evening.  Who  says  modern 
New  York  life  is  prosaic  ?  The  everlasting  poem  of  man 
and  woman  is  as  fresh  there  at  this  hour  as  among  the  cro- 
cuses and  violets  of  Eden. 

A  graceful  writer,  in  one  of  our  late  magazines,  speaks  of 
the  freedom  which  a  young  man  feels  when  he  has  found 
the  mistress  and  queen  of  his  life.  He  is  bound  to  no  other 
service,  he  is  anxious  about  no  other  smile  or  frown.  I  had 
been  approved  and  crowned  by  my  Queen  of  Love  and 
Beauty.  If  she  liked  me,  what  matter  about  the  rest  ? 

It  did  not  disturb  me  a  particle  to  feel  that  I  was  sub- 
mitted to  as  a  necessity,  rather  than  courted  as  a  blessing, 
by  her  parents.  I  cared  nothing  for  cold  glances  or  indif- 
ferent airs  so  long  as  my  golden -haired  Ariadne  threw  me 
the  clew  by  which  I  threaded  the  labyrinth,  and  gave  me 
the  talisman  by  which  to  open  the  door.  Once  safe  with 
her  in  her  little  "Italy,"  the  boudoir  in  which  we  first 
learned  to  know  each  other,  we  laughed  and  chatted,  mak- 
ing ourselves  a  gay  committee  of  observation  on  the  whole 
world  besides,  Was  there  anybody  so  fortunate  as  we? 
and  was  there  any  end  to  our  subject-matter  for  conver- 
sation ? 

**  You  have  no  idea,  Harry,"  she  said  to  me,  the  first  even- 
ing after  our  engagement  had  been  declared,  "what  a 
time  we've  been  having  with  Aunt  Maria !  You  know  she 
is  mamma's  oldest  sister,  and  mamma  is  one  of  the  gentle, 
yielding  sort,  and  Aunt  Maria  has  always  ruled  and  reigned 
over  us  all.  She  really  has  a  way  of  ordering  mamma 
about,  and  mamma  I  think  is  positively  afraid  of  her.  Not 
that  she's  really  ill-tempered,  but  she  is  one  of  the  sort  that 
thinks  it's  a  matter  of  course  that  she  should  govern  the 
world,  and  is  perfectly  astonished  when  she  finds  she  can't. 
I  have  never  resisted  her  before,  because  I  have  been  rather 
lazy,  and  it's  easier  to  give  up  than  to  fight ;  and  besides 


ACCEPTED  AND  ENGAGED,  391 

one  remembers  one's  catechism,  and  doesn't  want  to  rise  up 
against  one's  pastors  and  masters." 

"  But  you  thought  you  had  come  to  a  place  where 
amiability  ceased  to  be  a  virtue  I w  said  I. 

"  Exactly.  Ida  always  said  that  people  must  have  cour- 
age to  be  disagreeable,  or  they  couldn't  be  good  for  much ; 
and  so  I  put  on  all  my  terrors,  and  actually  bullied  Aunt 
Maria  into  submission." 

"  You  must  have  been  terrific,"  said  I,  laughing. 

"  Indeed,  you  ought  to  have  seen  me !  I  astonished  my- 
self. I  told  her  that  she  always  had  domineered  over  us  all, 
but  that  now  the  time  had  come  that  she  must  let  my 
mother  alone,  and  not  torment  her ;  that,  as  for  myself,  I 
was  a  woman  and  not  a  child,  and  that  I  should  choose  my 
lot  in  life  for  myself,  as  I  had  a  right  to  do.  I  assure  you, 
there  was  warm  work  for  a  little  while,  but  I  remained  mis- 
tress of  the  field." 

"  It  was  a  revolutionary  struggle,"  said  I. 

"  Exactly, — a  fight  at  the  barricades ;  and  as  a  result  a 
new  government  is  declared.  Mamma  reigns  in  her  own 
house  and  I  am  her  prime  minister.  On  the  whole  I  think 
mamma  is  quite  delighted  to  be  protected  in  giving  me  my 
own  way,  as  she  always  has.  Aunt  Maria  has  shaken  dread- 
ful warnings  and  threatenings  at  me,  and  exhausted  a  per- 
fect bead-roll  of  instances  of  girls  that  had  married  for 
love  and  come  to  grief.  You'd  have  thought  that  nothing 
less  than  beggary  and  starvation  was  before  us;  and  the 
more  I  laughed  the  more  solemn  and  awful  she  grew.  She 
didn't  spare  me.  She  gave  me  a  sad  character.  I  hadn't 
been  educated  for  anything,  and  I  didn't  know  how  to  do 
anything,  and  I  was  nothiug  of  a  housekeeper,  and  I  had  no 
strength ;  in  short,  she  made  out  such  a  picture  of  my  inca- 
pacities as  may  well  make  you  tremble." 

"I  don't  tremble  in  the  least,"  said  I.  "I  only  wish  we 
could  set  up  our  establishment  to-morrow." 

"  Aunt  Maria  told  me  that  it  was  ungenerous  of  me  to  get 
engaged  to  a  man  of  no  fortune,  now  when  papa  is  strug- 


392  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

gling  with  these  heavy  embarrassments,  and  can't  afford 
the  money  to  marry  me,  and  set  me  up  in  the  s'yle  he  would 
feel  obliged  to.  You  see,  Aunt  Maria  is  thinking  of  a  wed- 
ding twice  as  big  as  the  Elmores,  and  a  trousseau  twice  as 
fine,  and  a  brown-stone  front  palace  twice  as  high  and 
long  and  broad  as  the  Rivingtons  ;  and  twice  as  many 
coupes  and  Park  wagons  and  phaetons  as  Maria  Eivington 
is  to  have  ;  and  if  papa  is  to  get  all  this  for  me,  it  will  be 
the  ruin  of  him,  she  says." 

"And  you  told  her  that  we  didn't  want  any  of  them?" 
said  I. 

"  To  be  sure  I  did.  I  told  her  that  we  didn't  want  one 
of  these  vulgar,  noisy,  showy,  expensive  weddings,  and 
that  I  didn't  mean  to  send  to  Paris  for  my  things.  That  a 
young  lady  who  respected  herself  was  always  supplied 
with  clothes  good  enough  to  be  married  with ;  that  we 
didn't  want  a  brown  stone  palace,  and  could  be  very  happy 
without  any  carriage ;  and  that  there  were  plenty  of  cheap 
little  houses  in  unfashionable  streets  we  could  be  very 
happy  in ;  that  people  who  really  cared  for  us  would  come 
to  see  us,  live  where  we  would,  and  that  those  who  didn't 
care  might  keep  away." 

"  Bravo,  my  queen !  and  you  might  tell  her  how  Mad. 
Recainier  drew  all  the  wit  and  fashion  of  Paris  to  her 
little  brick-floored  rooms  in  the  old  Abbey.  People  will 
always  want  to  come  where  you  are." 

"  I  don't  set  up  for  a  Recamier,"  she  exclaimed,  "but  I  do 
say  that  where  people  have  good  times,  and  keep  a  bright 
pleasant  fireside,  and  are  always  glad  to  see  friends,  there 
will  always  be  friends  to  come ;  and  friends  are  the  ones 
we  want." 

"  Ah !  we  will  show  them  how  things  can  be  done,  won't 
we?" 

"  Indeed  we  will.  I  always  wanted  a  nice  little  house  all 
my  own  where  I  could  show  what  I  could  do.  I  have  quan- 
tities of  pet  ideas  of  what  a  home  should  be,  and  I  always 
fancied  I  could  make  things  lovely." 

"  If  you  couldn't,  who  could  ?"  said  I,  enchanted. 


ACCEPTED  AND  ENGAGED.  393 

"See  here,"  she  added,  "  I  have  just  begun  to  think  what 
we  have  to  start  with  All  the  pictures  iri  this  little  room 
are  mine,  bough  with  my  own  allowance ;  they  are  my  very 
own.  Pictures,  you  know,  are  a  great  thing,  they  half  fur- 
nish a  house.  Then  you  know  that  six  thousand  dollars 
that  grandmamma  left  me !  Besides,  sir,  only  think,  a  whole 
silver  cream-pitcher  and  six  tablespoons!  Why  Harry,  I'm 
an  heiress  in  my  own  right,  even  if  poor  papa  should  come 
to  grief.'' 

Something  in  this  talk  reminded  me  of  the  far-off  childish 
days  when  Susie  and  I  made  our  play-houses  under  the  old 
butternu  tree,  and  gathered  in  our  stores  of  chestnuts  and 
walnuts  and  laid  our  grave  plans  for  life  as  innocently 
ns  two  squirrels,  and  I  laughed  with  a  tear  in  my  eye.  I  re 
counted  to  her  the  little  idy?,  and  said  that  it  had  been  a 
foreshadowing  of  her,  and  that  perhaps  iuy  child  angel 
had  guided  me  to  her. 

"  Sorn^  day  you  shall  take  rne  up  there,  Harry,  and  show 
me  where  you  and  she  played  together,  and  we  will  gather 
strawberries  and  lilies  and  hear  the  bobolinks,"  she  said. 
"  IIot7  little  the  world  knows  how  cheap  happiness  is !" 

"To  those  that  know  where  to  look  ior  it,"  said  I. 

'•  I  heard  papa  telling  you  that  half  the  estates  on  which 
good  New  England  families  live  in  comfort  up  there  in  the 
country  don't  amount  to  more  than  five  thousand  dollars, 
yet  they  live  well,  and  they  have  all  those  lovely  things 
around  them  free.  Here  in  this  artificial  city  life  people 
struggle  and  suffer  to  get  money  for  things  they  don't  wan 
and  don't  need.  Nobody  wants  these  great  parties,  with 
their  candy  pyramids  and  their  artificial  flowers  and  their 
rush  and  crush  that  tiro  one  to  death,  and  yet  they  pay  as 
much  for  one  as  would  keep  one  of  those  country  houses 
going  for  a  year.  I  do  wish  we  could  live  there  !" 

"  I  do  too — with  all  my  heart,  but  my  work  must  lie 
here.  We  must  make  what  the  French  call  an  Interior 
here  in  New  York.  I  shall  have  to  be  within  call  of  print- 
ers and  the  slavo  of  printers'  devils,  but  in  gurniner  we 


394  MY  WIFE  AND  1. 

will  go  up  into  the  mountains  and  stay  with  my  mother,  and 
have  it  all  to  ourselves." 

"  Do  you  know,  Harry,"  said  Eva  after  a  pause,  "  I  can  see 
that  Sophie  Elmore  really  does  admire  Sydney.  I  can't 
help  wondering  how  one  can,  but  I  see  she  does.  Now  don't 
you  hope  she'll  get  engaged  to  him  1n 

"  Certainly  I  do,"  said  I,  "  I  won't  all  nice  people  to  be 
engaged  if  they  have  as  good  a  time  as  we  do.  It's  my 
solution  of  the  woman  question," 

"  Well,  do  you  know  I  managed  my  last  interview  with 
Sydney  with  reference  to  that  1  I  made  what  you  would 
call  a  split-shot  in  croquet  to  send  him  from  me  and  to  her." 

"  How  did  you  do  it  F 

"  Oh,  don't  ask  me  to  describe.  There  are  ways  of  man- 
aging these  men  that  are  incommunicable.  One  can  play  on 
them  as  upon  a  piano,  and  I'll  wager  you  a  pair  of  gloves 
that  Sydney  goes  off'  after  Sophie.  She's  too  good  for  him, 
but  she  likes  him,  and  Sophie  will  make  him  a  Hice  wife. 
But  only  think  of  poor  Aunt  Maria !  It  will  be  the  last 
stroke  that  breaks  the  camel's  back  to  have  the  Elmores 
get  Sydney." 

"  So  long  as  he  doesn't  get  you,  I  shall  be  delighted," 
said  I. 

"Now  only  think,"  she  added,  "this  Spring  I  was  drift- 
ing into  an  engagement  with  that  man  just  because  I  was 
idle,  and  blase,  and  didn't  know  what  to  do  next,  and  didn't 
have  force  enough  to  keep  saying  'No'  to  mamma  and 
Aunt  Maria  and  all  the  rest  of  them." 

"  And  what  gave  you  force  ?" 

"Well,  sir,  I  couldn't  help  seeing  that  somebody  else  was 
getting  very  prettily  entangled,  and  I  felt  a  sort  of  philo- 
sophic interest  in  watching  the  process,  and  somehow — you 
know — I  was  rather  sorry  for  you." 

"  Well  1" 

"  Well,  and  I  began  to  feel  that  anybody  else  would  be 
intolerable,  and  you  know  they  say  there  must  be  some- 
body." 


ACCEPTED  AND  ENGAGED.  395 

"  But  me  yon  could  tolerate  ?  Thank  you,  for  so  much." 
"  Yes,  Harry,  I  think  you  are  rather  agreeable.  I  couldn't 
fancy  mj  self  sitting  a  whole  evening  with  Sydney  as  I  do 
with  you.  I  always  had  to  resort  to  whist  and  all  sorts  of 
go-betweens  to  keep  him  entertained ;  and  I  couldn't  fancy 
that  I  ever  should  run  to  the  window  to  see  if  he  were 
coming  in  the  evening,  or  long  for  him  to  come  back  when 
he  was  on  a  journey.  I'm  afraid  I  should  long  quite  the 
other  way  and  want  him  to  go  journeys  often.  But  Sophie 
will  do  all  these  things.  Poor  man!  somebody  ought  to, 
for  he  wouldn't  be  a  bit  satisfied  if  his  wife  were  not 
devoted.  I  told  him  that,  and  told  him  that  he  needed  a 
woman  capable  of  more  devotion  than  I  could  feel  and 
flattered  him  up  a  little — poor  fellow,  he  took  to  it  so  kind- 
ly !  And  after  a  while  I  contrived  to  let  fall  a  nice  bit  of  a 
compliment  I  had  once  heard  about  him  from  a  lady,  who  I 
remarked  was  usually  a  little  fastidious,  and  hard  to  please, 
and  you  ought  to  have  seen  how  animated  he  looked!  A 
mouse  in  view  of  a  bit  of  toasted  cheese  never  was  more 
excited.  I  wouldn't  tell  him  who  it  was,  yet  I  sent  him  off 
on  such  a  track  that  he  inevitably  will  find  out.  That's 
what  I  call  sending  Sophie  a  ball  to  play  on.  You  see  if 
they  don't  have  a  great  wedding  about  the  time  we  have 
our  little  one !" 


396  MY  WIFE   AND  I. 


CHAPTER    XL. 

CONGRATULATIONS,  ETC. 

|  HE  announcement  of  my  engagement  brought  the 
usual  influx  of  congratulations  by  letter  and  in 
person.  Bolton  was  gravely  delighted,  shook  my 
hand  paternally,  and  even  promised  to  quit  his  hermit  hole 
and  go  with  me  to  call  upon  the  Van  Arsdels. 

As  to  Jim,  he  raised  a  notable  breeze  among  the  papers. 

"  Engaged  I— you,  sly  dog,  after  all !  Well !  well !  Let 
your  sentimental  fellows  alone  for  knowing  what  they're 
about.  All  your  sighing,  and  poetry,  and  friendship,  and 
disinterestedness  and  all  that  don't  go  for  nothing.  Up 
to  '  biz*  after  all !  Well,  you've  done  a  tolerably  fair  stroke ! 
Those  Van  Arsdal  girls  are  good  for  a  hundred  thousand 
down,  and  the  rest  will  come  in  the  will.  Well,  joy  to 
you  my  boy!  Kemember  your  old  grandfather." 

Now  there  was  no  sort  of  use  in  going  into  high  heroics 
with  Jim,  and  I  had  to  resign  myself  to  being  congratu- 
lated as  a  successful  fortune  hunter,  a  thing  against  which 
all  my  resolution  and  all  my  pride  had  always  been  di- 
rected. I  had  every  appearance  of  being  caught  in  the 
fact,  and  Jim  was  prepared  to  make  the  most  of  the 
situation. 

"  I  declare,  Hal,"  he  said,  perching  himself  astride  a  chair' 
"  such  things  make  a  fellow  feel  solemn.  We  never  know 
when  our  turn  may  come.  Nobody  feels  safe  a  minute ;  it's 
you  to-day  and  me  to-morrow.  I  may  be  engaged  before 
the  week  is  out — who  knows!" 

"  If  nothing  worse  than  that  happens  to  you,  you  needn't 
be  frightened,"  said  I.  "  Better  try  your  luck.  I  don't  find 
it  bad  to  take  at  all." 

"  Oh,  but  think  of   the  consequences,  man  !    Wedding 


CONGRATULATIONS,  ETC.  397 

journey,  bandboxes  and  parasols  to  look  after;  beefsteaks 
and  coffee  for  two;  house  rent  and  water  taxes;  market- 
ing, groceries  ;  all  coming  down  on  you  like  a  thousand 
of  brick!  And  then  'My  dear,  wou't  you  see  to  thisf 
and  *  My  dear,  have  you  seen  to  that?'  and  'My  dear,  what 
makes  you  let  it  rain  V  and  '  My  dear,  how  many  times 
must  I  tell  you  I  don't  like  hot  weather  f  and  'My  dear, 
won't  you  just  step  out  and  get  me  the  new  moon  andj 
seven  stars  to  trim  my  bonnet1?'  That's  what  I  call  get- 
ting a  fellow  into  business!  It's  a  solemn  thing,  Hal, 
now  I  tell  you,  this  getting  married!" 

"If  it  makes  you  solemn,  Jim,  I  shall  believe  it,"  I  said. 

"Well,  when  is  it  to  come  off!  When  is  the  blissful 
day  r 

"No  time  fixed  as  yet,"  said  I. 

"  Why  not  ?  You  ought  to  drive  things.  Nothing  under 
heaven  to  wait  for  except  to  send  to  Paris  for  the  folderols. 
Well,  I  shall  call  up  and  congratulate.  If  Miss  Alice  there 
would  take  me,  there  might  be  a  pair  of  us.  Wouldn't  it  be 
jolly  ?  I  say,  Hal,  how  did  you  get  it  off?" 

"Get  what  off?" 
*    "  Why,  the  question." 

"  You'll  have  to  draw  on  your  imagination  for  that,  Jim." 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Harry,  I  won't  offer  myself  to  a  girl  on 
uncertainties.  I'd  pump  like  thunder  first  and  find  out 
whether  she'd  have  me  or  not." 

"I  fancy,"  said  I,  "that  if  you  undertake  that  process 
with  Miss  Alice,  you'll  have  your  match.  I  think  die  has 
as  many  variations  of  yes  and  no  as  a  French  woman." 

"She  doesn't  catch  this  child,"  said  Jim,  "though  she's 
mag.  and  no  mistake.  Soberly,  she's  one  of  the  nicest  girls 
in  New  York— but  Jim's  time  isn't  come  yet. 

4  Oh,  no,  no  I  not  for  Joe, 
Not  for  Josepl:,  if  he  knows  it, 
Oh ,  dear,  no  1 ' 

So  now,  Hal,  don't  disturb  my  mind  with  these  trifles.  IVe 
got  three  books  to  review  before  dinner,  and  only  an  hour 
and  a  half  te  do  it  in." 


398  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

In  my  secret  heart  I  began  to  wish  that  the  embarrass- 
ments that  were  hanging  over  the  Van  Arsdel  fortunes 
would  culminate  and  come  to  a  crisis  one  way  or  an- 
other, so  that  our  position  might  appear  to  the  world 
what  it  really  was.  Mr.  Van  Arsdel's  communications  to 
me  were  so  far  confidential  that  I  did  not  feel  that  I 
could  allude  to  the  real  state  of  things  even  with  my 
most  intimate  friends;  so  that  while  I  was  looked  upon 
from  the  outside  as  the  prospective  winner  of  an  heiress, 
Eva  and  I  were  making  all  our  calculations  for  the  iu- 
ture  on  the  footing  of  the  strictest  prudence  and  econo- 
my. Everybody  was  looking  for  splendor  and  festivities ; 
we  were  enacting  a  secret  pastoral,  in  which  we  forsook 
the  grandeurs  of  the  world  to  wander  forth  hand  in  hand 
in  paths  of  simplicity  and  frugality. 

A  week  after  this  I  received  a  note  from  Caroline  which 
announced  her  arrival  in  the  city,  and  I  lost  no  time  in 
waiting  on  her  and  receiving  her  congratulations  on  my 
good  fortune.  Eva  and  Ida  Van  Arsdel  were  prompt  in 
calling  upon  her,  and  the  three  struck  up  a  friendship 
which  grew  with  that  tropical  rapidity  and  luxuriance 
characteristic  of  the  attachments  of  women.  Ida  and 
Caroline  become  at  once  bosom  friends. 

"  I'm  so  glad,"  Eva  commented  to  me,  "because  you  and  I 
are  together  so  much  now  that  I  was  afraid  Ida  might  feel 
a  little  out  in  the  cold;  I  have  been  her  pet  and  stand-by. 
The  fact  is,  I'm  like  that  chemical  thing  that  dyers  call  a 
mordant— something  that  has  an  affinity  for  two  different 
colors  that  have  no  affinity  for  each  other.  Fm  just  enough 
like  mamma  and  just  enough  like  Ida  to  hold  the  two  to- 
gether. They  both  tell  me  everything,  and  neither  of  them 
can  do  without  me." 

"I  can  well  believe  that,"  said  I,  "it  is  an  experience 
in  which  I  sympathize.  But  I  am  coming  in  now,  like  the 
third  power  in  a  chemical  combination,  to  draw  you  away 
from  both.  I  shouldn't  think  they'd  like  it." 

"  Oh,  well,  it's  the  way   of   nature !     Mamma  left  her 


CONGRATULATIONS,  ETC.  399 

mother  for  papa— but  Ida!- I'm  glad  for  her  to  have  so 
nice  a  friend  step  in  just  now— one  that  has  all  her  pe- 
culiar tastes  and  motives.  I  wish  she  could  go  to  Paris 
and  study  with  Ida  when  she  goes  next  year.  Do  you 
know,  Harry,  I  used  to  think  you  were  engaged  to  this 
cousin  of  yours?  Why  weren't  you1?" 

"  She  never  would  have  had  me, — her  heart  was  gone  to 
somebody  else." 

"Why  isn't  she  married,  then?" 

"  Oh !  the  course  of  true  love,  you  know." 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it." 

"She  never  made  me  her  confidant,"  said  I,  evasively. 

"Tell  me  who  it  was,  at  all  events,"  demanded  she. 

"Bolton." 

"What!  that  serious,  elegant  Bolton  that  you  brought 
to  call  on  us  the  other  night !  We  all  liked  him  so  much  ! 
What  can  be  the  matter  there  ?  Why,  I  think  he's  superb' 
and  she's  just  the  match  for  him.  What  broke  it  off?" 

"  You  know  I  told  you  she  never  made  me  her  confidant." 

"Nor  he,  either?" 

"  Well,"  said  I,  feeling  myself  cornered,  "  I  throw  myself 
on  your  mercy.  It's  another  man's  secret,  and  I  ought  not 
to  tell  you,  but  if  you  ask  me  I  certainly  shall." 

"Eight  or  wrong?" 

"  Yes,  fair  Eve,  just  as  Adam  ate  the  apple,  so  beware !" 

"I'm  just  dying  to  know,  but  if  you  really  ought  not 
to  tell  me  I  won't  tease  for  it ;  but  I  tell  you  what  it  is' 
Harry,  if  I  were  you  I  should  bring  them  together." 

"  Would  you  dare  take  the  responsibility  of  bringing  any 
two  together  ?" 

"  I  suppose  I  should.    I  am  a  daring  young  w'oman." 

"  I  have  not  your  courage,"  said  I,  "  but  if  it  will  do  you 
any  good  to  know,  Bolton  is  in  a  fair  way  to  renew  the  ac- 
quaintance, though  he  meant  not  to  do  it/' 

"  You  can  tell  me  how  that  happened,  I  suppose  ?" 

"Yes,  that  is  at  your  service.  Simply,  the  meeting  was 
effected  as  some  others  of  fateful  results  have  been, — in  a 
New  York  street- car." 

"Aha!"  she  said,  laughing. 


400  MY  WIFE  AND  L 

"  Yes ;  lie  was  traveling  up  Sixth  Avenue  the  other  night 
when  a  drunken  conductor  was  very  rude  to  two  ladies. 
Bolton  interfered,  made  the  man  behave  himself,  waited  on 
the  ladies  across  the  street  to  their  door  as  somebody  else 
once  did, — when,  behold !  a  veil  is  raised,  the  light  of  the 
lamp  flashes,  and  one  says  '  Mr.  Bolton !'  and  the  other 
'Miss  Simmons!'  and  the  romance  is  opened." 

"How  perfectly  charming!  Of  course  he'll  call  and  see 
her.  He  must,  you  know." 

"  That  has  proved  the  case  in  my  experience." 

"  And  all  the  rest  will  follow.  They  are  made  for  each 
other.  Poor  Ida,  she  won't  have  Caroline  to  go  to  Paris 
with  her!" 

"  No  ?  I  think  she  will.  In  fact  I  think  it  would  be  the 
best  thing  Caroline  could  do." 

"You  do!    You  don't  want  them  to  be  married?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  wouldn't  say — in  fact  it's  a  case  I 
wouldn't  for  the  world  decide." 

"  Oh,  heavens !  Here's  a  mystery,  an  obstacle,  an  un- 
known horror,  and  you  can't  tell  me  what  it  is,  and  I 
must  not  ask.  Why,  this  is  perfectly  dreadful!  It  isn't 
anything  against  Bolton?" 

"  Bolton  is  the  man  I  most  love,  most  respect,  most  re- 
vere," I  said. 

"  What  can  it  be  then  ?" 

"Suppose  we  leave  it  to  fate  and  the  future,"  said  I. 


THE  EXPLOSION.  401 


CHAPTER  .XLI. 

THE     EXPLOSION. 

AL !  it's  too  confounded  bad !"  said  Jim  Fellows? 
bursting  into  my  room  ;  "your  apple  cart's  upset 
for  good.  The  Van  Arsdels  are  blown  to  thun- 
der. The  old  one  has  failed  for  a  million.  Gone  to  smash 
on  that  Lightning  Railroad,  and  there  you  all  are  !  Hang 
it  all,  I'm  sorry  now !" 

And  to  say  the  truth  Jim's  face  did  wear  an  air  of  as  much 
concern  as  his  features  were  capable  of.  "  Seems  to  me," 
he  added,  "  you  take  it  coolly." 

"  The  fact  is,  Jim,  I  knew  all  about  this  the  day  I  pro- 
posed. I  knew  ifc  must  come,  and  I'm  glad,  since  it  had  to 
bo,  to  have  it  over  and  be  done  with  it.  Mr.  Van  Arsdel 
told  me  exactly  what  to  expect  when  I  engaged  myself." 

"And  you  and  Miss  Evu  Van  Arsdel  are  going  to  join 
hands  and  play  '  Babes  in  the  Woods  'P 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  we  are  going  to  play  the  interesting  little 
ballet  of  '  Man  and  Wife.'  I  am  to  work  for  her,  and  all 
that  I  win  is  to  be  put  into  her  hands." 

'*  Hum  !  I  fancy  she'll  find  things  on  quite  another  scale 
when  it  comes  to  your  dividends." 

"  We're  not  at  all  afraid  of  that— you'll  see." 

"  She's  a  tramp— that  girl !"  said  Jim ;  "  now  that's  what 
I  call  the  right  sort  of  thing.  And  there's  Alice !  Now,  I 
declare  it's  too  confounded  rough  on  Alice !  Just  as  she's 
come  out  and  such  a  splendid  girl  too  !" 

At  this  moment  the  office  boy  brought  up  a  note. 

"  From  Eva,"  I  said,  opening  it. 

It  ran  thus : 

"  Well,  dearest,  the  storm  has  burst  and  nobody  is  killed  yet.  Papa 
told  mamma  last  night,  and  mamma  told  us  this  morning,  and  we 


402  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

are  all  agreed  to  be  brave  as  possible  and  make  it  seem  as  light  as  we 
can  to  papa.  Dear  papa !  I  know  it  was  for  us  he  struggled,  it  was  for 
us  he  was  anxious,  and  we'll  show  him  we  can  do  very  well.  Come 
down  now.  Mamma  says  she  feels  as  if  she  could  trust  you  as  a  son. 
Isn't  that  kind  ?  Your  own  Eva." 

•'  I'm  going  right  down  to  the  house,"  said  I. 

"  I  declare,"  said  Jim,  "  I  want  to  do  something,  and  one 
doesn't  know  what.  I  say,  I'll  buy  a  bouquet  for  Alice, 
and  you  just  take  it  with  my  compliments."  So  saying  Jim 
ran  down  with  me,  crossed  to  a  florist's  cellar,  and  selected 
the  most  extravagant  of  the  floral  treasures  there. 

"  Hang  it  all !"  he  said,  "  I  wouldn't  send  her  such  a  one 
when  she  was  up  in  the  world,  but  now  a  fellow  wants 
to  do  all  he  can,  you  know." 

"  Jim,"  said  I, "  you  are  not  a  mere  smooth- water  friend." 

"Not  I.  *  Go  for  the  under  dog  in  the  fight'  is  my  prin- 
ciple, so  get  along  with  you  and  stay  as  long  as  you  like. 
I  can  do  your  book  notices ;  I  know  just  the  sort  of  thing 
you  would  say,  you  know— do  'em  up  brown,  so  that  you 
wouldn't  know  my  ideas  from  your  own." 

Arrived  at  the  Van  Arsdel  house,  I  thought  I  could  see 
and  feel  the  traces  of  a  crisis,  by  that  mysterious  intimation 
thnt  fills  the  very  air  of  a  place  where  something  has  just 
happened.  The  elegant  colored  servant  who  opened  the 
door  wore  an  aspect  of  tender  regret  like  an  undertaker 
at  a  funeral. 

"  Miss  Eva  was  in  her  boudoir, '  he  said,  "but  Miss  Alice 
hadn't  come  down."  I  sent  up  the  bouquet  with  Mr.  Fellows' 
compliments,  and  made  the  best  of  my  way  to  Eva. 

She  was  in  the  pretty  little  nook  in  which  we  had  had 
our  first  long  talk  and  which  now  she  called  our  Italy. 
I  found  her  a  little  pale  and  serious,  but  on  the  whole  in 
cheerful  spirits. 

"  It's  about  as  bad  as  it  can  be,"  said  she.  "  It  seems  papa 
has  made  himself  personally  responsible  for  the  Lightning 
Railroad  and  borrowed  money  to  put  into  it,  and  then  there's 
something  or  other  about  the  stock  he  borrowed  on  running 
down  till  it  isn't  worth  anything.  I  don't  understand  a 


THE  EXPLOSION.  403 

word  of  it,  only  I  know  that  the  upshot  of  it  all  is,  papa  is 
going  to  give  up  all  he  has  and  begin  over.  This  house  and 
furniture  will  be  put  into  a  broker's  hands  and  advertised 
for  sale.  All  the  pictures  are  going  to  Goupil's  sale  rooms 
and  will  make  quite  a  nice  gallery." 

"  Except  yours  in  this  room,"  said  I. 

"  Ah  well !  I  thought  we  should  keep  these,  but  I  find 
papa  is  very  sensitive  about  giving  up  everything  that  is 
really  his— and  these  are  his  in  fact.  1  bought  them  with 
his  money.  At  all  events,  let  them  go.  We  won't  care, 
will  we  1" 

"  Not  so  long  as  we  have  each  other,"  said  I.  '  For  my 
part,  though  I'm  sorry  for  you  all,  yet  I  bless  the  stroke 
that  brings  you  to  me.  You  see  we  must  make  a  new  home  at 
once,  you  and  I,  isn't  it  so  ?  Now,  hear  me  ;  let  us  be  mar- 
ried in  June,  the  month  of  months,  and  for  our  wedding 
journey  we'll  go  up  to  the  mountains  and  see  my  mother. 
It's  perfectly  lovely  up  there.  Shall  it  be  so?'' 

*'  As  you  will,  Harry.  And  it  will  be  all  the  better  so, 
because  Ida  is  going  to  sail  for  Paris  sooner  than  she  an- 
ticipated." 

"  Why  does  Ida  do  that  T 

"Well,  you  see,  Ida  has  been  the  manager  of  papa's 
foreign  correspondence  and  written  all  tho  letters  for  three 
years  past,  and  papa  has  paid  her  a  large  salary,  of  which 
she  has  spent  scarcely  anything,  She  has  invested  it  to 
make  her  studies  with  in  Paris.  She  offered  this  to  papa, 
but  he  would  not  take  it.  He  told  her  it  was  no  more  bis 
than  the  salary  of  any  other  of  his  clerks,  and  that  if  she 
wouldn't  make  him  very  unhappy  she  would  take  it  and 
go  to  Paris ;  and  by  going  immediately  she  could  arrange 
some  of  his  foreign  business.  So  you  see  she  will  stay  to 
see  us  married  and  then  sail." 

"  We'll  be  married  in  the  same  church  where  we  put  up 
the  Easter  crosses,"  said  I. 

"How  little  we  dreamed  it  then,"  she  said,  " and  that 
reminds  me,  sir,  where's  my  glove  that  you  stole  on  that 
occasion  ?  You  naughty  boy,  you  thought  nobody  saw  you, 
but  somebody  did." 


404  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

"Your  glove,"  said  I,  "is  safe  and  sound  in  my  reliquary 
along  with  sundry  other  treasures." 

"  You  unprincipled  creature  !  what  are  they  ?    Confess." 

"  Well !  a  handkerchief." 

"  Wretched  man !  and  besides  ?" 

"Two  hair  pins,  a  faded  rose,  two  beads  that  dropped 
from  your  croquet  suit,  and  a  sleeve  button.  Then  there  is 
a  dry  sprig  of  myrtle  that  you  dropped,  on,  let  me  see,  the 
14th  of  April,  when  you  were  out  at  the  Park  in  one  of 
those  rustic  arbors." 

"And  you  were  sitting  glowering  like  an  owl  in  an  ivy 
bush.  I  remember  I  saw  you  there." 

We  both  found  ourselves  laughing  very  much  louder  than 
circumstances  seemed  really  to  require,  when  Eva  heard 
her  father's  footstep  and  checked  herself. 

"  There  goes  poor  papa.  Isn't  it  a  shame  that  we  laugh  ? 
We  ought  to  be  sober,  now,  but  for  the  lite  of  me  I  can't. 
I'm  one  of  the  imponderable  elastic  gases ;  you  can't  keep 
me  down." 

"  One  may  'as  well  laugh  as  cry,'  under  all  circumstances,'? 
said  I. 

"Better,  a  dozen  times.  But  seriously  and  soberly,  I 
believe  that  even  papa,  now  it's  all  over,  feels  relieved.  It 
was  while  he  was  struggling,  fearing,  dreading,  afraid  to 
tell  us,  that  he  had  the  worst  of  it." 

"  Nothing  is  ever  so  bad  as  one's  fears,"  said  I."  There  is 
always  some  hope  even  at  the  bottom  of  Pandora's  box." 

"  Sententious,  Mr.  Editor,  but  true.  Now  in  illustration. 
Last  week  Ida  and  1  wrote  to  the  boys  at  Cambridge  all 
about  what  we  feared  was  coming,  and  this  very  morning 
we  had  such  nice  manly  letters  from  both  of  them.  If  we 
hadn't  been  in  trouble  we  never  should  have  known  half 
what  good  fellows  they  are.  Look  here,"  she  said,  opening 
a  letter,  "  Tom  says,  '  Tell  father  that  I  can  take  care  of 
myself.  I'm  in  my  senior  year  and  the  rest  of  the  course 
isn't  worth  waiting  for  and  I've  had  an  opportunity  to  pitch 
in  with  a  surveying  party  on  the  Northern  Railroad  along 


THE  EXPLOSION.  40.5 

with  my  cLum.  I  shall  work  like  sixty,  and  make  myself  so 
essential  that  they  can't  do  without  me.  And,  you  see,  the 
first  that  will  be  known  of  mo  I  shall  be  one  of  the  leading 
surveyors  of  the  day.  So  have  no  caro  for  me.'  And  here's 
a  letter  from  Will  which  says, '  Why  didn't  father  tell  us 
before  ?  We've  spent  ever  so  much  more  than  we  needed, 
but  are  going  about  financial  retrenchments  with  a  ven- 
geance. Last  week  I  attended  the  boat  race  at  Worcester 
and  sent  an  account  of  it  to  the  Argus,  written  off-hand, 
just  for  the  fun  of  it.  I  got  a  prompt  reply,  wanting  to 
engage  ine  to  go  on  a  reporting  tour  of  all  the  great  election 
meetings  for  them.  I'm  to  have  thirty  dollars  a  week  and 
all  expenses  paid ;  so  you  see  I  step  into  the  press  at  once. 
We  shall  sell  our  pictures  and  furniture  to  some  freshies 
that  are  coming  in,  and  wind  up  matters  so  as  not  to  come 
on  father  for  anything  till  he  gets  past  these  straits.  Tell 
mother  not  to  worry,  she  shall  be  taken  care  of ;  she  shall 
have  Tom  and  me  both  to  work  for  her.' " 

"  They  are  splendid  fellows !"  said  I,  "  and  it  is  worth  a 
crisis  to  see  how  well  they  behave  in  it.  Well,  then, '  I 
resumed,  "  our  wedding  day  shall  be  fixed,  say  for  the  14th 
of  June  ?'*' 

"  How  very  statistical !  I'm  sure  I  can't  say,  I've  got 
to  talk  with  mamma  and  all  the  powers  that  be,  and  settle 
my  own  head.  Don't  let's  set  a  day  yet ;  it  soils  the  blue 
line  of  the  distance —  nothing  like  those  pearl  tints.  Our 
drawing  master  used  to  tell  us  one  definite  touch  would 
spoil  them." 

"  For  the  present,  then,  it  is  agreed  that  we  are  to  be 
married  generally  in  the  month  of  June  ?"  said  I. 

"  P.  P. — Providence  permitting,"  said  she — "Providence, 
meaning  mainma,  Ida,  Aunt  Maria,  and  all  the  rest." 


406  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 


CHAPTER    XLII. 

THE    WEDDING    AND    THE    TALK    OVER    THE    PRATER-BOOK. 

]F  novels  are  to  be  considered  true  pictures  of  real 
life  we  must  believe  that  the  fall  from  wealth  to 
poverty  is  a  less  serious  evil  in  America  than  in 
any  other  known  quarter  of  the  world. 

In  English  novels  the  failure  of  a  millionaire  is  repre- 
sented as  bringing  results  much  the  same  as  the  commis- 
sion of  an  infamous  crime.  Poor  old  Mr.  Sedley  fails  and 
forthwith  all  his  acquaintances  cat  him;  nobody  calls  on 
his  wife  or  knows  her  in  the  street ;  the  family  who  have 
all  along  been  courting  his  daughter  for  their  son  and  kiss- 
ing the  ground  at  her  feet,  now  command  the  son  to  break 
with  her,  and  turn  him  out  of  doors  for  marrying  her. 

Jn  America  it  is  quite  otherwise.  A  man  fails  without 
losing  friends,  neighbors,  and  the  consideration  of  society. 
He  moves  into  a  modest  house,  finds  some  means  of  hon- 
est livelihood,  and  everybody  calls  on  his  wife  as  before. 
Friends  and  neighbors  as  they  have  opportunity  are  glad 
to  stretch  forth  a  helping  hand,  and  a  young  fellow  who 
should  break  his  engagement  with  the  daughter  at  such 
a  crisis  would  simply  be  scouted  as  infamous. 

Americans  have  been  called  worshipers  of  the  almighty 
dollar,  and  they  certainly  are  not  backward  in  that  species 
of  devotion,  but  still  these  well-known  facts  show  that  our 
worship  is  not,  after  all,  so  absolute  as  that  of  other  quar- 
ters of  the  world. 

Mr.  Van  Arsdel  commanded  the  respect  and  sympathy 
of  the  influential  men  of  New  York.  The  inflexible  hon- 
esty and  honor  with  which  he  gave  up  all  things  to  his 
creditors  won  sympathy,  and  there  was  a  united  effort 


THE  TALK  OVER  THE  PRAYER-BOOK.        407 

made  to  procure  for  him  an  appointment  in  the  Custom 
House,  which  would  give  Irm  a  comfortable  income.  In 
short,  by  the  time  that  my  wedding-day  arrived,  the  family 
might  be  held  as  having  fallen  from  we  ilth  into  compe- 
tence. The  splendid  establishment  on  Fifth  Avenue  was 
to  be  sold.  It  was,  in  fact,  already  advertised,  and  our 
wedding  was  to  be  the  last  act  of  the.  family  d~ama  in  it. 
Alter  that  we  were  to  go  to  my  mother's,  in  the  moun- 
tains of  New  Hampshire,  and  Mr.  Van  Arsdel's  family 
were  to  spend  the  summer  at  the  old  farm-homestead 
where  his  aged  parents  jet  kept  house. 

Our  wedding  preparations  therefore  went  forward  with 
a  good  degree  of  geniality  on  the  part  of  the  family,  and 
with  many  demonstrations  of  sympathy  and  interest  on 
the  PI.TD  of  friends  and  relations.  A  genuine  love-mar- 
riage always  and  everywhere  evokes  a  sort  of  instinc- 
tive warmth  and  sympathy.  The  most  worldly  are  fond 
of  patronizing  it  as  a  delightful  folly,  and  as  Eva  had 
bee  a  one  of  the  most  popular  girls  of  her  set  she  was 
flooded  with  presents. 

And  now  t^e  day  of  days  was  at  hand,  and  for  the  last 
time  I  went  up  the  steps  of  the  Van  Arsdel  mansion  to 
spend  a  last  eveuing  with  Eva  Van  Arsdel. 

She  met  me  at  the  door  of  her  boudoir:  "Harry,  here 
you  are!  oh,  I  have  no  end  of  things  to  tell  you  !-the 
door  bell  has  been  ringing  all  day,  and  a  perfect  storm 
of  presents.  We  have  duplicates  of  all  the  things  that 
uobody  can  do  without.  I  believe  we  have  six  pie-knives 
and  four  sugar-silters  and  three  egg-boilers  and  three 
china  hens  to  sit  on  eggs,  and  a  perfect  meteoric  shower 
of  s.<U-ceilars.  I  couldn't  even  count  them." 

"Oh  well!  Salt  is  the  symbol  of  hospitality,"  said  I, 
"  so  we  can't  have  too  many/7 

"And  look  here,  Harry,  the  wedding-dress  has  come 
home.  Think  of  the  unheard-of  incomprehensible  virtue 
of  Tullcgig!  I  don't  think  she  ever  had  a  thiug  done  in 
time  before  in  her  life.  Behold  now !" 

Sure  enough!  before   me,  arranged  on  a    chair  was   a 


408  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

misty  and  visionary  pageant  of  vapory  tulle  and  shim- 
mering satin. 

'*  Ail  this  is  Ida's  grift.  She  insis-ed  that  she  alone  would 
dress  me  for  my  wedding,  and  poor  Tullegig  actually  has 
outdone  herself  and  worked  over  it  with  tears  in  her 
eyes.  Good  soul !  she  has  a  heart  behind  all  her  finery, 
and  really  seems  to  take  to  me  especially,  perhaps  be- 
cause I've  been  suca  a  model  of  patience  in  waiting  at 
her  doors,  and  never  scolded  her  for  any  of  her  tricks. 
In  fact,  we  girls  have  been  as  good  as  an  annuity  to 
Tullegig;  no  wonder  she  mourns  over  us.  Do  you  know, 
Harry,  the  poor  old  tbing  actually  kissed  me !" 

"I'm  not  in  the  least  surprised  at  her  wanting  that 
privilege,"  said  I. 

*'  Well,  I  felt  rather  tender  toward  her.  I  believe  it's 
Dr.  Johnson  or  somebody  else  who  says  there  are  few 
things,  not  purely  evil,  of  which  we  can  say  without  emo- 
tion, 'This  is  the  last!'  And  Tullegig  in  by  no  means  a 
pure  evil.  This  is  probably  the  last  of  her— with  me.  Lut 
come,  you  don't  say  what  you  think  of  it.  What  is  it 
li^eS" 

"  Like  a,  vision,  like  the  clouds  of  morning,  like  the  trans- 
lation robes  of  saints,  like  impossible  undreamed  mysteries 
of  bliss.  I  feel  as  if  they  might  all  dissolve  away  and  be 
gone  before  to-morrow." 

"Oh,  shocking,  Harry!  you  mustn't  take  such  indefinite 
cloudy  views  of  things.  You  must  learn  to  appreciate  de- 
tails. Open  your  eyes,  and  learn  now  that  Tullegig  out  of 
special  love  and  grace  has  adorned  niy  dress  with  a  new 
style  of  trimming  that"  not  one  of  the  girls  has  ever  had 
or  seen  before.  It  is  an  original  composition  of  her  own. 
Isn't  it  blissful,  now  f 

"  Extremely  blissful,"  said  I,  obediently. 

"  You  doa't  admire, — you  are  not  half  awake." 

"  I  do  admire — wonder— adore— anything  else  that  you 
like — but  I  can't  help  feeling  that  it  is  all  a  vision,  and 
that  when  those  cloud  wreaths  float  around  you,  you  will 
dissolve  away  and  be  gone." 


THE  TALK  OVER  THE  PRAYER-BOOK.       409 

"Poh!  poh !  You  will  find  me  vory  visible  ami  present, 
as  a  sharp  little  fhorn  in  3  our  side.  Now,  see,  here  arc  the 
slippers!''  mid  therewiin  she  set  down  before  me  n  pair  of 
pert  little  delicious  white  sa  in  absurdities,  with  high  heels 
and  tiny  toes,  and  great  bows  glistening  with  bugles. 

Nothing  fascinates  a  man  like  a  woman's  slipper,  from  its 
nt.tcr  incomprehensibility,  its  astonishing  unlikeness  to  any 
article  subserving  the  same  purpose  for  his  own  sex,  Eva's 
slippers  always  seemed  to  have  a  character  of  their  own,— 
a  prankish  elfin  grace,  and  these  as  they  stood  there  seemed 
instinct  with  life  as  two  white  kittens  just  ready  for  a 
spring. 

I  put  two  fingers  into  each  of  the  little  wretches  and 
made  them  caper  and  dance,  and  we  laughed  gayly. 

'*  Let  me  see  your  boots,  Harry  f 

"There,"  said  I,  putting  best  foot  forward,  a  brand  new 
pair  bought  for  the  occasion.  "  I  am  wearing  them  to  get 
used  to  them,  so  as  to  give  my  whole  mind  to  the  solemn 
services  to-morrow.'' 

"Oh,  you  enormous  creature!"  she  said,  "you  are  a  per- 
fect behemoth.  Fancy  now  my  slippers  peeping  over  the 
table  here  and  wondering  at  your  boots.  I  can  imagine  the 
woman  question  discussed  between  the  slippers  and  the 
boots." 

"  And  I  can  fancy,"  said  I,  "  the  poor,  stumping,  well- 
meaning  old  boots  being  utterly  perplexed  and  routed  by 
the  elfin  slippers  What  can  poor  boots  do  1  They  cannot 
follow  them,  c  innot  catch  or  control  them,  and  if  they  come 
down  hard  on  them  they  ruin  them  altogether." 

"Ana  the  good  old  boots  nevertheless,"  said  she,  "are 
worth  forty  pairs  of  slippers.  They  can  stamp  through 
wet  and  mud  and  rain,  and  come  out  afterward  good  as 
new;  and  lift  the  slippers  over  impossiole  places.  Dear 
old  patient  long-suffering  boots,  let  the  slippers  respect 
them  !  But  come,  Harry,  this  is  the  last  evening  now, 
and  do  you  know  I've  some  anxiety  about  our  little  pro- 
gramme to-niorrow  ?  You  were  not  bred  in  the  Church, 


410  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

and  you  never  were  married  before,  and  so  you  ought 
to  be  well  up  in  jour  part  beforehand." 

"  I  confess,"  said  I,  "  1  feel  ignorant  and  a  bit  nervous." 

"  Now,  I've  been  a  brid^sinaii  no  end  of  times,  and  seen 
all  the  possibles  that  may  happen  under  those  interesting 
circumstances,  and  men  are  so  awkward— their  great  feet 
are  always  sure  to  step  somewhere  where  they  shouldn't, 
and  then  they  thumb  and  nimble  about  the  ring,  and  iheir 
gloves  always  stick  to  their  hands,  and  it's  uncomfortable 
generally.  Now  dou't,  I  beg  you,  disgrace  me  by  any  such 
enormities." 

"  This  is  what  the  slippers  say  to  the  boots,"  said  I. 

"Exactly.  And  here  is  whe.e  tht  boots  do  well  to  take 
a  lesson  of  the  slippers.  They  are  'on  their  native  heath,' 
here." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  I,  "  get  down  the  Prayer-book  and 
te  ich  ine  my  proprieties.  1  will  learn  my  lesson  thor- 
oughly" 

"  Well,  now,  we  have  the  thing  all  arranged  for  to- 
morrow; the  carriages  are  to  be  here  at  ten;  ceremony 
at  eleven.  The  procession  will  form  at  the  cLuich  dooi ; 
first,  Jim  Fellows  cind  Alice,  then  you  and  inama>a,  then 
papa  aid  me,  and  when  we  meet  at  the  altar  be  sure  to 
mind  where  you  step,  and  don't  tre.id  on  my  veil  or  any 
of  my  tulle  clouds,  because,  though  it  may  look  like  va- 
por, you  can't  very  well  set  your  fo.»t  through  it;  and 
be  sure  you  have  a  well-disciplined  glove  that  you  caji 
slip  off  without  a  fuss;  and  have  the  ring  just  where 
you  can  lay  your  hand  on  it.  And  now  let's  read  over 
the  service  and  responses  and  all  that." 

We  went  through  them  creditably  till  Eva,  putting  her 
finger  on  one  word,  looked  me  straight  in  the  eye. 

"Obey,  Harry,  isn't  that  a  droll  word  between  you  and 
me?  1  can't  concei7e  of  it.  Now  up  to  this  time  you 
have  always  obeyed  me." 

"  And  '  turn  about,  is  fair  play,1  the  proverb  says,"  said 
I,  "you  see,  Eva,  since  Adam  took  the  apple  from  Eve 
men  have  obeyed  women  nem.  con. — there  was  no  need 


THE  TALK  OVER  THE  PRAYER-BOOK.       411 

of  putting  the  'obey'  into  their  part.  The  only  puzzle  is 
how  to  constrain  the  subtle,  imponderable,  ethereal  es- 
sence of  woinai.hood  under  some  law;  so  the  obey  is  our 
helpless  attempt." 

"  But  now,  really  and  truly,  Harry  I  want  to  talk  seri- 
ously about  this.  The  girls  are  so  foolish  !  Jane  Seymour 
said  she  said  ; be  gay'  instead  of  'obey' — and  Maria  Eltuore 
said  she  di  :n't  say  it  all.  But  really  and  truly,  that  is  God's 
altar — and  it  is  a  religious  service,  and  if  I  go  there  at  all, 
1  must  understand  what  I  mean,  and  s.iy  it  from  my  luart." 

"  My  dear,  if  you  have  any  hesitancy  you  know  that  you 
can  leave  h  out.  In  various  modern  wedding  services  it  is 
olten  omitted.  We  could  easily  avoid  it." 

"Uh  nonsense,  Harry  !  Marry  out  of  the  Church  !  What 
are  ^ou  thinking'  off  Not  1,  indeed!  I  shouldn't  think 
myself  really  married." 

"Well,  then,  my  princess,  it  is  your  own  affair.  If  you 
choose  to  promise  to  obey  me,  I  can  ouiy  be  grateful  for 
the  honor;  if  it  gives  any  power,  it  is  of  3 our  giving,  not 
my  seeking." 

"But  what  does  a  woman  promise  when  she  promises  at 
the  altar  to  olit  y  V 

"  Wei:,  evidently,  she  rromises  to  obey  her  husband  in 
every  case  where  he  commands,  and  a  higher  duty  to  God 
does  not  forbid." 

"  But  dot  s  this  mean  that  all  through  life  in  every  case 
where  ther?  arises  a  difference  of  opinion  or  taste  between 
a  husband  and  wife  she  is  to  give  up  to  him?" 

"If,"  said  I,  "she  has  been  so  unwise  as  to  make  this 
promise  to  a  man  without  common  sense  or  gentlemanly 
honor,  who  chooses  to  have  his  own  will  prevail  in  all 
cases  of  differences  of  taste,  1  don't  see  but  she  mu_>t." 

"  But  between  people  like  you  ami  me,  Harry  ?  ' 

"Between  people  like  you  and  me,  d;.ilii;g,  I  can't  see 
that  the  word  can  make  any  earthly  difference.  There 
can  be  no  obeying  where  there  never  is  any  command- 
ing, and  as  to  commanding  you  I  should  as  soon  think 
of  commanding  the  sun  and  moon." 


412  MY  WIFE   AND  I. 

'*  Well ;  but  you  know  we  shall  not  always  think  alike  or 
want  the  same  tiling." 

"Then  we  will  talk  matters  over,  and  the  one  that  gives 
the  best  reasons  shall  prevail.  You  and  1  will  be  like  any 
other  two  dear  friends  who  agree  to  carry  on  any  enter- 
prise together,  we  shall  discuss  matters,  and  sometimes  one 
and  sometimes  the  other  will  prevail." 

"  But,  Harry,  this  matter  puzzles  me.  Why  is  there  a 
command  in  the  Bible  that  wives  should  &  ways  obe\  ? 
Very  many  times  in  domestic  affairs,  certainly,  the  wo- 
man knows  the  most  and  has  altogether  the  best  judg- 
ment." 

"It  appears  to  me  that  it  is  one  of  those  very  general 
precepts  that  require  to  be  largely  interpreted  bj  com- 
mon sense.  Taking  the  whole  race  of  man  together,  tor 
ail  stages  of  society  and  all  degrees  of  development,  I 
suppose  it  is  the  safest  general  direction  for  the  weaker 
party.  Ij  low  stages  of  society  where  brute  force  rules, 
man  has  woman  wholly  in  his  power,  and  she  can  win 
peace  and  protection  only  by  submission.  But  where  so- 
ci«  ty  rises  into  those  higher  forms  where  husbands  and 
wives  are  intelligent  companions  and  equals,  the  direc- 
tion does  no  harm  because  it  confeis  a  prerogative  that 
no  cultivated  man  would  think  of  asserting  any  more 
than  he  would  think  ot  using  his  superior  physical  strength 
to  enforce  it." 

**  T  suppose,"  said  Eva,  "  it  is  ju»t  like  the  command  that 
children  should  obej  parents.  When  children  are  grown 
up  and  married  and  settled,  parents  never  think  of  it." 

"  Precisely,"  said  1,  "  and  you  and  I  are  the  grown-up 
children  of  the  Christian  era— all  that  talk  of  obedience 
is  the  old  calyx  of  the  perfect  flower  of  love—'  when 
that  which  is  perfect  is  come,  then  that  which  is  in  part 
shall  be  done  away.'" 

"So,  then,  it  appears  you  and  1  shall  have  a  free  field 
of  discussion,  Harry,  and  may  be  1  shall  croquet  youi  b..ll 
off  the  ground  sometimes,  as  I  did  once  before,  you  know. ' 

"  i  dare  say  you  will.    There  was  an  incipient  spice  of 


THE  TALK  OVER  THE  PRAYER-BOOK.        413 

matrimonial  virulence,  my  fair  Eva,  in  the  way  you  played 
that  frame!  In  fact,  1  began  to  hope  I  was  not  indifferent 
to  you  from  the  zeal  with  which  you  pursued  and  routed 
me  ou  that  occasion." 

"  I  must  confess  it  did  my  heart  good  to  set  your  ball 
spinning,  -  and  tint  puts  me  in  mind.  I  have  the  greatest 
piece  of  news  to  tell  you.  If  you'll  believe  me,  Sydney  and 
Sophie  are  engaged  already  I  She  came  here  this  morning 
with  her  present,  this  lovely  amethyst  cross— and  it  seems 
funny  to  nie,  but  she  is  just  as  dead  in  love  with  Sydney  as 
she  can  be,  and  do  you  know  he  is  so  delighted  with  the 
compliment,  that  lie  has  informed  her  that  lie  has  made  the 
discovery  that  he  never  was  in  love  before." 

"  The  scamp!  what  does  he  mean ?*'  said  I. 

"Oh,  he  said  that  little  witch  Eva  Van  Arsdel  had  daz- 
zled him— and  he  had  really  supposed  himself  in  love,  but 
that  she  never  had  '  excited  the  profound,'  et€.,  etc.,  he  feels 
for  Sophie." 

"  So  '  all's  well  tbat  ends  well,' "  said  I. 

"  And  to  show  his  entire  pacific  tion  toward  me,"  said 
Eva,  "he  has  sent  nie  this  whole  set  of  mantel  bronzes  — 
clock,  vases,  candlesticks,  match-box  and  all.  Aren't  they 
superb  ?w 

"  Magnificent!"  said  I.  "  What  an  air  they  will  give  our 
room!  On  the  whole,  d.ar,  I  think  rejected  lovers  are  not 
so  bad  an  article." 

"Well,  here,  I  must  show  you  Bolton's  present,  which 
came  in  this  afternoon,"  with  which  she  led  me  to  a  pair 
of  elegantly  carved  book-racks  enriched  with  the  complete 
works  ot  Longfellow,  Whittier,  Lowell,  Holmes,  and  Haw- 
thorne. They  were  elegantly  gotten  up  in  a  uniform  style 
of  binding. 

"Isn't  that  lovely?"  said  she,  "and  so  thoughtful !  For 
how  many  happy  hours  he  has  provided  here!" 

"  Good  fellow  !"  said  I,  feeling  the  tears  start  in  my  eyes. 
"  Eva,  if  there  is  a  mortal  absolutely  without  selfishness,  it 
is  Boitou." 


414  MY  WIFE  AND  1. 

"  Oh,  Harry,  why  couldn't  lie  marry  and  be  as  happy 
as  we  are  ?" 

"Perhaps  some  day  he  may,"  said  1,  "but  dear  me!  who 
gaVe  that  comical  bronze  inkstand?  It's  enough  to  make 
one  laugh  to  look  at  it." 

"Don't  you  know  at  once*?  Why,  that's  Jim  Fellows' 
present.  Isn't  it  just  like  him  ?" 

"I  might  have  known  it  was  Jim,"  said  I,  "it's  so  de- 
cidedly frisky." 

"Well,  really,  Harry  do  you  know  that  1  am  in  deadly 
fear  that  that  wicked  Jim  will  catch  my  eye  to  morrow 
in  the  ceremony  or  do  something  to  set  me  off,  and  I'm 
always  perfectly  hysterical  when  I'm  excited,  and  if  I 
look  his  way  there'll  be  EO  hope  for  me." 

"We  must  trust  to  Providence,"  said  1;  "if  I  should 
say  a  word  of  remonstrance  it  would  make  it  ten  times 
worse.  The  creature  is  possessed  of  a  frisky  spirit  and 
can't  help  it." 

"Alice  was  lecturing  him  about  it  last  night,  and  the 
only  result  was  we  nearly  killed  ourselves  laughing.  After 
all,  Harry,  who  can  help  liking  Jim  V  Since  our  troubles 
he  has  been  the  kindest  of  mortals ;  so  really  delicate  and 
thoughtful  in  his  attentions.  It  was  something  I  shouldn't 
have  expected  of  him.  Harry,  what,  do  you  think  I  Should 
you  want  Alice  to  like  him,  supposing  you  knew  that  he 
would  like  her?  Is  there  stability  enough  in  him  "?" 

"Jim  is  a  queer  fellow,"  said  I.  "On  a  slight  view  he 
looks  a  mere  bundle  of  comicalities  and  caprices,  and  he 
takes  a  singular  delight  in  shocking  respectable  prejudices 
and  making  himself  out  worse  than  he  is,  or  ever  thiuks  of 
being.  But  after  all,  as  young  men  go,  Jim  is  quite  free 
from  bad  habits.  He  does  not  drink,  and  he  doesu't  even 
smoke.  He  is  the  most  faithful  assiduous  worker  in  his 
line  of  work  among  the  newspaper-men  of  New  York.  He 
is  a  good  sou  ;  a  kind  brother." 

"  But,  somehow,  he  doesn't  seem  to  me  to  have  real  deep 
firm  principle." 


THE  TALK  OVER  THE  PRAYER-BOOK.       415 

"Jim  is  a  child  of  modern  Now  York— an  6ttve  of  her 
school.  A  good  wife  and  a  good  home,  with  good  friends, 
might  do  mucii  for  him,  but  lie  will  always  be  one  that  will 
act  more  from  kindly  impulses  than  from  principle.  He 
will  be  very  apt  to  go  as  his  friends  go." 

"You  know,"  she  said,  "in  old  times,  when  Alice  was 
in  full  career,  I  never  thought  of  anything  serious  as  pos- 
sible. It  is  only  since  our  trouble  and  his  great  kindness 
to  us  that  I  have  thought  of  the  thing  as  at  all  likely.'' 

"  We  may  as  well  leave  it  to  the  good  powers,"  said  T, 
"  we  can't  do  much  to  help  or  hinder,  only,  if  they  should 
come  together  I  shall  be  glad  for  Jim's  sake,  for  I  love 
him.  And  now,  my  dear  Eva,  have  you  any  more  orders, 
counsels,  or  commands  for  the  fateful  to-morrow  f  said  I, 
"for  it  waxes  late,  and  you  ought  to  get  a  beauty  sleep 
to-night."  » 

"  Oh,  I  forgot  to  t°ll  you  I'm  not  going  to  wear  either  my 
new  traveling  dress  or  hat,  or  anything  to  mark  me  out  as  a 
bride ;  and  look  here,  Harry,  you  must  try  and  study  the  old 
staid  married  man's  demeanor.  Don't  let's  disgrace  our- 
selvi  s  by  bein^  discovered  at  once." 

"Shall  I  turn  my  back  on  you  and  read  the  newspaper? 
I  observe  that  some  married  men  do  that." 

"  Yes,  and  if  you  could  conjugally  wipe  your  boots  on  my 
dress,  it  would  have  an  extremely  old  married  ett'ect.  You 
can  read  the  paper  first,  and  then  pass  it  to  me — that  is  an- 
other delicate  little  poiut." 

"  t'm  afraid  that  in  your  zeal  you  will  drive  me  to  ex- 
ce  ses  of  boorishness  that  will  overshoot  the  mark"  said  I. 
"You  wouldn't  want  me  to  be  so  negligent  of  '  that  pretty 
girl,'  that  some  other  gentleman  would  feel  a  disposition  to 
befriend  her  ?" 

"Wall,  dear,  but  there's  a  happy  medium.  We  can  ap- 
pear like  two  relatives  traveling  together." 

"  1  am  afraid,  said  I  "  after  all,  we  shall  be  detected ;  but 
if  we  are,  we  shall  be  in  good  company.  Our  first  day's 
journey  lies  in  the  regular  bridal  route,  and  I  expect  that 
every  third  or  fourth  seat  will  show  an  enraptured  pair,  of 


416  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

whom  we  can  take  lessons — after  all,  dear,  you  know  there 
is  no  siii  in  being:  just  married." 

"  No,  only  in  acting  silly  about  it  as  I  liopo  we  slia'n't,  I 
want  us  to  be  models  of  rationality  and  decorum." 

Here  the  clock  sti iking  twelve  warned  me  that  the  last 
day  of  Eva  Van  Arsdel's  lite  was  numbered. 


BOLTON.  417 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

BOLTON. 

RETURNED  to  my  room  past  midnight,  excited 
and  wakeful.  Seeing  a  light  through  the  crack  of 
Bolton's  door,  I  went  up  and  knocked  and  wa«  bid- 
den to  enter.  1  found  him  seated  under  his  study-lamp, 
looking  over  a  portfolio  of  papers,  some  of  which  lay  strew- 
ed around  him  open.  I  observed  at  a  glance  that  the  hand- 
writing was  that  of  Caroline.  He  looked  at  me.  Our  eyes 
met— a  slight  flush  ruse  in  his  cheeks  as  he  said : 

'  I  have  been  looking  over  a  collection  of  writings  belong- 
ing to  your  cousin,  the  fruits  of  the  solitary  years  of  her 
secluded  life." 

"And  you  find  them—?" 

*'  A  literary  treasure,''  he  said,  with  emphasis.  "Yes,"  he 
added,  "what  there  is  here  will,  I  think,  give  her  reputation 
and  established  position,  and  a  command  of  prices  which 
will  enable  her  to  fullfil  her  long  cherished  intention  of 
studying  in  Paris.  She  will  go  out  with  Miss  Ida  Van 
Arsdel,  soon  after  you  are  gone.  I  can  assure  her  the  means, 
and  1  have  already  procured  her  the  situation  of  corres- 
pondent to  the  Chronicle,  with  very  liberal  terms.  So  you 
see  her  way  is  all  plain." 

" But  what  shall  we  do  with  the  Ladies'  Cabinet?" 

"  0,  we'll  manage  it  among  us.  Caroline  will  write  for  it 
occasionally." 

"  Caroline  /"  There  was  a  great  deal  in  the  manner  in 
which  Bolton  spoke  that  name.  It  was  full  of  suppressed 
feeling.  Some  can  express  as  much  intensity  of  devotion  by 
the  mere  utterance  of  a  name,  as  others  by  the  most  ardent 
protestations. 


418  MY  WIFE  A.ND  I. 

I  was  in  the  mood  that  holds  every  young:  man  on  the  eve 
of  a  happy  marriage.  I  could  conceive  of  no  bliss  outside 
of  that ;  and  there  was  in  the  sound  of  Boltou's  voice,  as  he 
spoke,  a  vibration  of  an  intense  pain  which  distressed  m^. 

"  Bolton,"  I  said,  imploringly,  "  why  will  you  sacrifice 
yourself  and  her  9  She  loves  you — you  love  her.  Why  not 
another  marriage— another  home  ?" 

His  face  quivered  a  moment,  and  then  settled  firmly.  He 
smiled. 

"  Hal,  my  boy,"  he  said, "  you  naturally  see  nothing-  for 
man  and  woman  but  marriage  just  now.  But  it  is  not  every 
man  and  woman  who  love  each  other  who  have  the  right  to 
marry.  She  does  love  me,"  he  added,  with  a  deep,  inward 
breathing.  "She  is  capable  of  all  that  magnanimity,  all 
that  generous  self-sacrifice  that  make  women  such  angels 
to  us " 

"  Then,  oh !  why  not ?"  began  I,  eagerly. 

"Because  I  LOVE  her  dearly,  devoted'y,  I  will  not  accept 
such  a  sacrifice.  I  will  not  risk  her  wrecking  her  life  on 
me.  The  pain  she  feels  now  in  leaving  me  will  soon  die  out 
in  the  enthusiasm  of  a  career.  Yes,  the  day  is  now  come, 
thank  God,  when  a  woman  as  well  as  a  man  can  have  some 
other  career  besides  that  of  the  heart.  Let  her  study  her 
profession — expand  her  mind,  broaden  her  powers— become 
all  that  she  can  be.  It  will  not  impede  her  course  to  remem- 
ber that  there  is  in  the  world  one  friend  who  will  always 
love  her  above  all  things;  and  the  knowledge  that  she  loves 
me  will  save  me — if  I  am  salvable." 

"  If— oh,  Bolton,  my  brother !  why  do  you  say  if  fn 

Because  the  danger  is  one  I  cannot  comprehend  and  pro- 
vide for.  It  is  like  that  of  sudden  insanity.  The  curse  may 
never  return — pray  God  it  may  not— bufc  if  it  should,  at 
least  I  shall  wreck  no  other  heart." 

"  Bolton,  can  you  say  so  if  there  is  one  that  loves  youf 

"  Not  as  a  wife  would  love.  Her  whole  being  and  des*iny 
are  not  intertwined  with  mine,  as  marriage  would  unite 
them.  Besides,  if  there  is  somewhere  hid  away  in  my  brain 


BO  I.  TON.  419 

and  blood  the  seed  of  this  fatal  mania,  shall  I  risk  trans- 
miming  them  to  a  helpless  chi'-df  Shall  I  expose  such  a 
woman  to  the  danger  of  Buffering  over  ag;iin,  as  a  mother, 
the  anguish  she  must  suffer  as  a  wife  ?— the  fears,  the  anxi- 
eties, the  disappointment,  the  wearing,  Casting  pain  ?  As 
God  is  my  Judge,  I  will  not  make  another  woman  suffer 
what  my  mother  has.'' 

In  all  my  intercouse  with  Boiton,  I  never  heard  him  speak 
of  his  ir  other  before,  and  he  spoke  now  with  intense  vehe- 
mence; his  voice  vibrated  and  quivered  with  emotion.  In 
a  lew  moments,  however,  he  resumed  his  habitual  self-pos- 
session, 

"  No,  Hal,''  he  said,  cheerily;  "  build  no  air-castles  for  me. 
I  shall  do  well  enough;  you  and  >ours  will  be  enough  to 
occupy  me.  And  now  show  me  tirst  what  1  am  to  do  for  you 
while  you  are  gone.  Jim  and  I  will  trudge  to  all  impossible 
places,  to  look  you  up  that  little  house  with  a  good  many 
large  rooms  in  it,  that  all  young  housekeepers  ara  in  search 
of.  1  will  cut  out  advertisements  and  look  over  nice  places 
and  let  you  know  the  result;  and  I'll  see  to  the  proof-sheets 
of  your  articles  for  the  Milky  Way,  wad.  write  your  contribu- 
tions to  the  Democracy.  If  you  want  to  be  our  special  cor- 
respondent from  the  Garden  of  Eden,  why  you  may  send  us 
back  letters  on  your  trip.  You  can  tell  us  if  the  '  gold  of 
that  land '  is  still '  good,'  and  if  there  are  there  still '  bdellium 
and  onyx  stone,'  as  there  were  in  the  Bible  days." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  I.  "  I  shall  send  you  letters,  but  hardly 
of  a  kind  to  appear  in  the  Democracy.'1'1 

"  What  wi  h  your  engagements  on  that  sheet,  and 
what  I  shall  have  ready  to  pile  in  on  you  by  the  time  you 
come  back,  you  will  have  little  time  for  philandering  after 
your  return.  So  take  it  out  now  and  get  all  the  honey  there 
is  in  this  next  moon.  For  me,  I  have  my  domestic  joys. 
Finuette  has  presented  me  with  a  charming  batch  of  kittens. 
Look  here." 

And  sure  enough,  snugly  ensconced  in  a  large,  well-padded 
basket  by  the  tire,  lay  madam  asleep,  with  four  downy  httie 


420  MY  WIFE  AND  ]. 

minikins  snuggled  to  her.  Bolton  took  the  lamp  and 
kneeled  down  to  show  them,  with  the  most  absorbed  intent. 
Stumpy  came  and  stood  by  the  basket,  wagging  what  was 
left  of  his  poor  tail,  and  looking  as  if  he  had  some  earnest 
responsibility  in  the  case. 

As  to  Finnette,  she  opened  her  yellow  eyes,  sleepily 
stretched  Wt  her  claws,  purred  and  roiled  over,  as  if  iu  ex- 
cess of  pride  and  joy. 

"  Who  says  there  isn't  happiness  on  earth  ?"  said  Boltou. 
"A  cat  is  a  happiness-producing  machine.  Hal,  I  shall  save 
one  of  those  kittens  to  set  you  up  with.  No  family  is  com- 
plete without  a  cat.  I  shall  take  one  in  training  for  you. 
You  should  have  a  dog,  roo ;  but  I  can't  spare  Stumpy.  I 
don't  believe  there  is  anything  like  him  in  the  world." 

"  I  verily  believe  you,"  said  I. 

"  Stumpy's  beau.y  is  so  entirely  moral  that  I  fear  it  never 
would  be  popularly  appreciated ;  besides,  poor  brute,  he  is 
quite  capable  of  dying  for  love  of  me  if  I  gave  him  up. 
That's  an  accomplishment  few  men  attain  to.  Well,  Hal, 
go  to  bed  now,  or  you'll  be  too  sleepy  to  behave  respectably 
to-morrow.  God  bless  you !" 


THE  WEDDING  J  0  URNE  Y.  421 


CHAPTER   XLIV. 

THE  WEDDING  JOURXEY. 

WEDDING  journey,— what  is  it?    A  tour  to  all 
the  most  expensive  and  fashionable  ho.  els  and 
watering-places.     The   caie  of  Saratoga  trunks 
and  bonnet-boxes.    The  display  of  a  fashionable  wardrobe 
made  purposely  for  this  object,  and  affording  three  alto- 
gether new  and  different  toilets  a  day. 
Very  well. 

D  jubtless  all  this  may  coexist  with  true  love ;  and  true 
lovers,  many  and  ardent,  have  been  this  round,  and  may 
again,  and  been  and  be  none  the  worse  tor  it.  For  where 
true  love  is,  it  is  net  much  matter  whatever  else  is  or  is  not. 
But  when  the  Saratoga  trunks,  the  three  dresses  a  day, 
and  the  display  of  them  to  Mrs.  Grundy,have  been  the 
substitute  for  love  and  one  of  the  impelling  motives  to 
marriage,  or  when  they  absorb  all  those  means  and  re- 
sources on  which  domestic  comfort  and  peace  should  be 
built  during  the  first  years  of  married  life,  then  they  are 
simply  in  Scriptural  phrase  "  the  abomination  of  desola- 
tion, standing  where  it  ought  not." 

Yet  apart  from  that  there  is  to  me  a  violation  of  the 
essential  sacredness  of  the  holiest  portion  of  mortal  life  in 
exposing  it  to  the  glare  of  everyday  observation.  It  seems 
as  if  there  were  something  so  wonderful  and  sacred  in  that 
union  by  which  man  and  woman,  forsaking  all  others,  cleave 
to  each  other,  that  its  inception  requires  quiet  solitude,  the 
withdrawal  from  the  common-place  and  bustling  ways  of 
ordinary  life. 

The  two,  more  to  each  other  than  all  the  world  besides, 
are  best  left  to  the  companionship  of  nature.  Carpets  of 


422  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

moss  are  better  than  the  most  elaborate  of  fashionable  hotel 
furniture;  birds  and  squirrels  are  more  suitable  companions 
than  men  nnd  women. 

Our  wedding  was  a  success,  so  far  as  cheerfulness  and 
enjoyment  was  concerned.  The  church  had  been  garlanded 
and  made  fair  and  sweet  by  the  floral  tributes  of  many 
friendly  hands.  Jim  Fellows  and  one  or  two  of  the  other 
acquaintances  of  the  family  had  exerted  tuenaselves  to 
produce  a  very  protty  effect.  The  wedding  party  was  one 
of  relatives  and  near  friends  only,  without  show  or  parade, 
but  with  a  great  deal  of  good  taste.  There  was  the  usual 
amount  of  weeping  among  the  elderly  female  relatives, 
particularly  on  the  part  of  Aunt  Maria,  who  insisted  on 
maintaining  a  purely  sepulchral  view  of  our  prospects  on 
life. 

Ever  since  the  failure  of  Mr.  Van  Arsdel,  Aunt  Maria  had 
worn  this  aspect,  and  seemed  to  consider  all  demonstra- 
tions of  lightness  of  heart  and  cheerfulness  on  the  part  of 
the  family  as  unsuitable  trifling  with  a  dreadful  dispensa- 
tion. 

But  the  presence  of  this  funereal  influence  could  not 
destroy  the  gayety  of  the  younger  members,  and  Jim  Fel- 
lows seemed  to  exert  himself  particularly  to  whip  up  such 
a  froth  and  foam  of  merriment  and  jollity  as  caused  the 
day  to  be  remembered  as  one  of  the  gayest  in  our  annals. 

We  had  but  one  day's  ride  in  the  cars  to  bring  us  up  to 
the  old  simple  stage  route  of  the  mountain  country.  Dur- 
ing this  said  day  in  the  cars,  under  the  tutelage  of  my 
Empress,  I  was  made  to  behave  myself  with  the  grimmest 
and  most  stately  reserve  of  manner.  Scarcely  was  I  allowed 
the  same  seat  with  her,  and  my  conversation  with  her,  so 
far  as  could  be  observed,  was  confined  to  the  most  unim- 
passioned  and  didactic  topics. 

The  reason  for  this  appeared  to  be  that  having  married 
in  the  very  matrimonial  month  of  June,  and  our  track  lying 
along  one  of  the  great  routes  of  f  ishionable  trav<  1,  we 
were  beset  behind  and  before  by  enraptured  couples,  whose 


THE  WEDDING  JOURNEY.  423 

amiable  artleasness  in  the  display  of  their  emotions  appear- 
ed particularly  shocking  to  her  t:iste.  On  the  row  of  seats 
in  front  of  us  could  be  seen  now  a  masculine  head  lolling 
c  ntideutially  on  a  feminine  shoulder,  and  a  pi  in  in  the  next 
8"-at  an  evident  bridal  bonnet  leaning'  on  the  bosom  of  the 
beloved  waistcoat  of  its  choice  in  sweet  security. 

"  It  is  perfectly  disgusting  and  disagreeable,"  she  said 
in  my  ear. 

"  My  dear,"  I  replied,  "  I  don't  see  as  we  can  do  anything 
about  it." 

"  I  don't  see — I  cannot  imagine  how  people  can  make 
such  a  show  of  themselves,''  she  said. 

"  Well,  you  see,"  said  I,  "  we  are  all  among  the  parvenus 
of  married  life.  It  isn't  everybody  that  kno\\s  how  to 
behave  as  if  he  had  always  been  rich— let  us  comtort  our- 
selves with  reflections  on  our  own  superiority." 

The  close  of  the  day  brought  us,  however,  to  the  verge  of 
the  mountain  region  where  railroads  cease  and  stages  begin, 
—the  beautiful  country,  of  hard,  flinty,  rocky  roads,  of 
pines  and  evergreens  of  silvery  cascades  and  brooks  of 
melted  crystal,  and  of  a  society,  as  yet  homely  and  heart- 
some,  and  with  a  certain  degree  of  sylvan  inuorence.  At 
once  we  seemed  to  h..ve  left  the  artificial  world  behind 
us — the  world  of  observers  and  observed.  We  sat  togeth- 
er on  the  top  of  the  stage,  and  sailed  like  two  birds  of  the 
air  through  the  tree-tops  of  the  forest,  looking  down  into 
all  the  charming  secrets  of  woodland  ways  as  we  went 
on,  and  fueling  ourselves  delivered  from  all  the  spells  and 
incantations  of  artificial  life.  We  might  have  been  two 
squirrels,  or  a  pair  of  robins,  or  blue  birds.  We  ceased  to 
think  how  we  appeared.  We  forgot  that  there  were  an 
outer  world  and  spectators,  and  felt  ourselves  taken  isi  and 
made  at  home  in  the  wide  hospitality  of  nature.  High- 
land, where  my  mother  lived,  was  just  within  a  day's  ride 
of  ihe  finest  pirtof  the  White  Mountains.  The  close  of  a 
charming  leisurely  drive  upward  brought  us  at  night  to 
her  home,  and  I  saw  her  sweet  face  of  welcome  at  the 


424  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

door  to  meet  us,  and  gave  her  new  daughter  to  her  arms 
with  confident  pride. 

The  vilbige  was  so  calm,  and  still,  and  unchanged ! 
The  old  church  where  my  father  had  preached,  the  houses 
where  still  lived  the  people  I  had  known  from  a  boy,  the 
old  store,  the  tavern  with  its  creaking  sign-post,  anil  best 
of  all,  Uncle  Jacob's  house,  with  its  recesses  and  corners 
full  of  books,  its  quiet  rooms  full  of  comfort,  its  traditions 
of  hospitality,  and  the  deep  sense  of  calm  and  rest  that 
seemed  ever  brooding  there.  This  was  a  paradise  where 
I  could  bring  my  Eve  for  rest  and  for  refuge. 

WLat  charming  days  went  over  our  hoads  there!  We 
ramblod  like  two  school -children,  hand  in  hand,  over  all  the 
haunts  of  my  boyhood.  Where  1  and  iny  little  child-wife 
had  gathered  golden-hearted  lilies,  and  strawberries,  we 
gathered  them  again.  The  same  bobolink  seemed  to  sit  on 
the  top  twig  of  the  old  apple  tree  in  th^  corner  of  the 
meadow  and  say  "  Chack,  chack,  chack  !"  as  he  said  it  when 
Susie  and  I  used  to  sit  wiih  the  meadow  grass  over  our 
heads  to  watch  him  while  he  poured  down  on  us  showers 
of  musical  dew  drops.  It  seemed  as  if  I  had  gone  back  to 
boyhood  again,  so  much  did  my  inseparable  companion 
recail  to  me  the  child-wife  of  my  early  days.  We  were 
both  such  perfect  children,  living  in  the  enjoyment  of 
the  bright  present,  without  a  care  or  a  fear  for  the  future. 

Every  day  when  we  returned  fiom  our  rambles  and  ex- 
cursions the  benignant  face  of  my  mother  shone  down  on 
us  with  fullness  of  appreciation  and  joy  in  our  joy  ;  while 
Uncle  Jacob,  still  dry,  quizzical,  and  active  as  ever,  regard- 
ed us  with  an  undisguised  complacency. 

"You've  done  the  right  thing  now,  Harry,"  he  said  to 
me.  "She'll  do.  You're  a  lucky  boy  to  get  such  a  one, 
even  though  she  is  a  city  giri." 

Eva,  after  a  little  experience  in  mountain  climbing,  pro- 
ceeded to  equip  herself  for  it  with  fe.niuiue  skill.  Our 
village  store  supplied  her  with  material  out  of  which  with 
wonderful  quickness  she  constructed  what  she  called  a 


THE  WEDDING  JOURNEY.  425 

mountain  suit,  soxnewluit  of  the  bloomer  order,  but  to 
which  she  contrived  to  impart  u  sort  of  air  of  dapper  grace 
and  Griiess.  And  once  arrayed  iu  this  she  climbed  with  me 
to  the  uiosc  impossible  places,  and  we  investigated  the  in- 
nermost mysteries  of  rock,  forest,  and  cavern. 

My  uncle  lent  me  his  horse  and  carriage,  and  with  a 
luncheon  -basket  well  stored  by  my  mother's  providing  care, 
we  went  on  a  tour  of  exploration  .of  two  or  three  days 
into  the  mountains,  in  the  course  of  which  we  made  our- 
selves familiar  iu  a  leisurely  manner  with  some  of  the 
finest  scenery. 

The  mutual  acquaintance  that  comes  to  companions  in 
this  solitude  and  face-to-face  coinmunioa  with  nature,  is 
deeper  and  more  radical  than  can  come  when  surrounded 
by  the  factitious  circumstances  of  society.  When  the 
whole  artificial  world  is  withdrawn,  and  far  out  of  sight, 
when  we  are  surrounded  with  the  pure  and  beautiful 
mysteries  of  nature,  the  very  best  and  most  genuine 
part  of  us  comes  to  the  surface,  we  know  each  other  by 
the  communion  of  our  very  highest  faculties. 

When  Eva  and  1  found  ourselves  alone  together  in  the 
heart  of  some  primeval  forest,  where  tae  fool  sunk  ankle- 
deep  in  a  carpet  of  more  exquisite  fabric  than  any  loom 
of  mortal  workmanship  could  create,  where  the  old  fallen 
trunks  of  trees  were  all  overgrown  with  this  exquisite 
mossy  tapesUy,  and  all  around  uo  was  a  perfect  broidery 
and  inlay  of  flower  and  leaf,  while  birds  called  to  us 
overhead,  down  through  the  flickering  shadows  of  the 
pine  boughs,  we  felt  our  elves  out  of  the  world  and  in 
paradise,  and  able  to  look  back  from  its  green  depths  with 
a  dispassionate  judgment  on  the  life  we  had  lei't. 

Then,  the  venture  we  had- made  in  striking  hands  with 
each  other  to  live,  not  for  the  pomps  and  vanities  of  this 
world,  but  for  the  true  realities  of  the  heart,  seemed  to  us 
the  highest  reason.  Nature  smiled  on  it.  Every  genuine 
green  thing,  every  spicy  fragrant  bush  and  tree,  eveiy 
warbling  bird,  true  to  the  laws  of  its  nature,  seemed  to 
say  to  us  "Weil  done." 


426  MY  WIFE  AND  1. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Eva,  as  we  sat  in  one  of:  these  moun- 
tain recesses  whence  we  could  gain  a  view  of  the  littls 
silvery  cascade,  "  I  suppose  that  there  are  a  great  many 
people  who  loo"k  on  me  as  a  proper  subject  of  pity.  My 
fa  .her  has  failed,  1  have  married  a  man  with  no  fortune, 
except  what  he  has  in  himself.  We  can't  afford  to  spend 
our  honeymoon  at  Niagara,  Saratoga,  and  the  rest  of  the 
show  places  ;  and  we'  don't  contemplate  either  going  to 
parties  or  givicg  them  when  we  go  back  to  New  York.'7 

**  Poor,  poor  Eva  Van  Arsdel !  how  art  thou  fa-leu  !'' 
said  I. 

"  Poor  Aunt  Maria  P'  said  Eva.  "  I  honestly  and  truly  am 
sorry  for  her.  She  really  loves  me  in  her  way— tic  way 
most  people  love  you,  which  is  to  want  you  to  be  happy  in 
djing  as  they  please.  Her  heart  was  set  oti  my  making  an 
astoundingly  rich  match,  and  having  a  wedding  that 
should  eclipse  all  former  wedding*,  and  then  becoming 
a  leader  of  fashionable  society;  aiid  to  have  n.e  fail  of 
ail  this  13  a  dreadful  catastrophe.  I  want  somehow  to 
comfort  her  and  make  up  with  her,  but  she  can't  forgive 
me.  She  kissed  me  at  last  with  a  stern  and  warning  air 
that  ceeined  to  say:  *  Well,  \L  you  will  go  to  destruction, 
I  can't  iielp  it,'" 

"  Perhaps  when  she  sees  how  happy  we  are,  she  will  get 
over  it,"  said  i. 

"  No,  I  tear  not.  Aunt  Maria  can't  conceive  of  any- 
body's being  happy  that  has  to  begin  life  with  an  ingrain 
carpet  on  the  iloor.  She  would  thi.,k  it  a  positive  inde- 
corum to  be  happy  under  such  circumstances—  a  want  of 
a  propor  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things.  Now,  I  propose 
to  be  very  happy  under  precisely  thoss  circumstances,  and 
to  try  to  make  you  so  ;  consequently  you  see  I  shall  offend 
her  moral  sense  continuously,  and,  as  1  said,  1  do  wish  it 
weren't  so,  because  1  love  Aunt  Maria,  and  am  sorry  I 
can't  please  her." 

"  1  suppose,"  said  I,  "  there  is  no  making  her  compre- 
hend the  resources  we  have  in  each  other — our  love  of 
just  this  bright,  free,  natural  life  P 


THE  WEDDING  JOURNEY.  427 

"  Oil  dear,  no !  All  Aunt  Maria's  idea  of  visiting  the 
mountains  wou.d  be  having  looms  at  the  Proiile  House 
in  the  height  of  tlu  season,  and  gazing  in  full  dress  afe 
the  mountains  fioui  the  verandahs.  I  dou't  think  she 
really  cares  enough  for  any  thing  here  to  risk  wetting  her 
feet  for  it.  I  dare  say  the  poor  dear  soul  is  lying  awake 
nights  no w,  lamenting  over  my  loss  of  what  I  don't  care 
for,  and  racking  her  brains  how  wo  may  contrive  to  patch 
up  a  lit;le  decent  geutilitj." 

"  And  you  are  as  free  and  gay  as  an  oriole !'' 

"  Certainly  L  am.  All  1  wish  is  that  we  could  live  in 
one  of  these  little  mountain  towns,  jr.st  as  your  mother 
and  uncle  do.  I  love  the  hearty,  simple  society  here." 

"  Well/'  said  I,  "as  we  cannot,  we  can  only  try  to  make 
a  home  in  New  York,  as  simple-heaited,  and  kindly,  and 
unworldly  as  if  we  Lved  h_re.:' 

"Yes,  and  we  can  do  that,'1  add  she.  "You  have  only 
to  resolve  to  be  free,  and  you  arc  free.  Now,  that  is  the 
beauty  of  our  being  married.  Alone,  we  are  parts  of 
other  f  ami  ies,  drawn  along  with  them—  entrained,  as  the 
French  say  :  now  we  are  married,  we  can  do  as  we  please; 
we  become  king  and  queen  of  a  new  state.  In  our  own  house 
we  can  have  our  o.vn  ways.  We  are  monarchs  of  all 
we  survey." 

"  True,"  said  I,  "  and  a  home  and  a  family  that  has  an 
original  and  individual  life  ot  its  own,  is  always  recog- 
nized in  time  as  a  fait  accompli.  You  and  I  will  be  for  the 
future  '  The  Hendersons;'  and  people  will  say  the  Hender- 
sons do  Uiis  and  that,  or  the  the  Hendersons  don't  do  the 
other.  They  will  study  us  as  oue  studies  a  new  State." 

"Yes,"  said  slie,  taking  up  my  idea  in  her  vivacious 
way,  "  and  when  they  h.ive  ascertained  our  latitude  and 
longtituJe,  soil  and  productions,  manners  and  customs, 
they  can  choose  whether  they  like  to  visit  us." 

"  And  you  are  not  in  the  least  afraid  of  having  it  said, 
'The  Hendersons  are  oddf  "  asked  I. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  replied  Eva,  "  so  long  as  the  oddity 


428  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

is  some  unusual  form  of  comfort.  For  example,  a  sitting- 
room  like  your  uncle's,  with  its  brass  andirons  and  blazing 
wood  fire,  its  books  and  work,  its  motherly  lounges,  would 
be  a  sor :  of  exotic  in  New  York,  where  people,  as  a  matter 
of  course,  expect  a  pier-glass  and  marble  slab,  a  somber 
concatenation  of  cord  and  tassels  and  damask  curtaius, 
and  a  given  number  of  French  chairs  and  ottomans, 
veiled  with  linen  covers,  and  a  general  funereal  daikness 
of  gentility.  Now,  I  propose  to  introduce  the  country  sit- 
ting room  into  our  New  York  house.  Your  mot1  er  already 
has  given  me  her  weddi.ig  andirons— perfect  loves— with 
shovel  and  tongs  corresponding  ;  and  I  am  going  to  h.ive 
a  bright,  light,  free  and  easy  room  which  the  sunshine  shall 
glorify." 

"  But  you  know,  my  love,  wood  is  very  dear  in  New 
York." 

"  So  are  curtains,  and  ottomans,  and  mirrors,  and  marble 
slabs,  and  quantities  of  things  which  we  shall  do  without. 
And  then,  you  see,  we  don't  propose  to  warm  our  house 
with  a  wood -fire,  but  only  to  adorn  it.  It  is  an  altar  fire 
that  we  will  kindle  every  evening,  just  to  light  up  our 
room  and  show  it  to  advantage.  How  charming  every 
thing  looks  at  your  mother's  in  that  time  between  day- 
light and  dark,  when  you  all  sit  round  the  hearth,  and  the 
fire  lights  up  the  pictures  and  the  books,  and  makes  every 
thing  look  so  dreamy  and  beautiful !" 

"•You  are  a  little  poet,  my  dsar;  it  will  be  your  specialty 
to  turn  life  into  poetry. ' 

"  And  that  is  what  I  call  woman's  genius.  To  make  life 
beautiful;  to  keep  down  and  out  of  sight  the  hard,  ury, 
prosaic  side,  a^d  keep  up  the  poetry— that  is  my  iJea  of 
our  'mission.'  I  think  woman  ought  to  be,  what  Haw- 
thorne calls,  '  The  Artist  of  the  Beautiful.' " 


MY  WIFE'S  WARDROBE.  429 


CHAPTER     XLV. 

MY  WIFE'S  WARDROBE. 

ET  not  the  reader  imagine  by  the  paragraph  on 
Saratoga  trunks  that  my  little  wife  had  done 
what  the  Scripture  assumes  is  jhe  impossibility 
for  woman  kind,  and  as  a  bride  forgotten  her  attire. 

Although  possessing  ideas  of  great  moderation,  she  had 
not  come  to  our  mountain  home  without  the  appropriate 
armor  of  womanhood. 

1  interpreted  the  duties  of  a  husband  after  the  direc- 
tions of  Michelet,  and  was  my  wife's  only  maid,  and  iii  all 
humility  performed  for  her  the  office  of  packing  and  un- 
packing her  trunks,  and  handling  all  those  strange  and 
wo?^derful  mysteJes  of  the  toilet,  which  seemed  to  my  eyes 
penetrated  with  an  ineffable  enchantment. 

I  have  been  struck  with  dismay  of  late,  in  reading  the 
treatises  of  some  very  clever  female  reformers  concerning 
the  dress  of  the  diviner  sex. 

It  is  really  in  contemplation  among  them  to  reduce  it 
to  a  level  as  ordinary  and  prosaic  as  it  occcupies  among 
us  men,  heavy-looted  ^onsof  toil?  Are  sashes  and  bows, 
and  neck  ribbons  and  tiny  slippers  and  globes  to  give 
way  to  thick -soled  boot*  and  buckskin  gauntlets  and 
broadcloth  coats?  To  me  my  wife's  wardrobe  was  a 
daily  poem,  and  from  her  use  of  it  I  derived  the  satisfac- 
tion of  faculties  which  had  lain  dormanj;  under  my  heavy 
black  broadcloth,  like  the  gauzy  tissue  under  the  black 
noin  wings  of  a  poor  beetle.  I  never  looked  at  the  splen- 
did pictures  of  Paul  Veronese  and  Titian  in  the  Vene- 
tian galleries,  without  murmuring  at  the  severe  edicts 


430  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

of  modern  life  which  sends  every  man  forth  on  the  tide 
of  life,  like  a  black  gondola  condemned  to  oue  nj vary- 
ing color.  Those  gorgeous  velvets  iu  all  the  hues  of  the 
ra:.nbo.v,  those  dainty  laces  and  splendid  gems,  which 
once  were  allowed  to  us  men,  are  all  swept  aw.«y,  and 
for  us  there  remains  no  poetry  of  dress.  Our  tai'or  turns 
us  out  a  suit  in  which  one  is  just  like  another  wita  scarce 
an  individual  variation. 

The  wife,  then,  the  part  of  one's  self  which  marriage 
gives  us,  affords  us  a  gratification  of  these  suppressed 
faculties.  She  is  our  finer  self;  and  in  her  we  appre- 
ciate and  enjoy  what  ic  denied  to  us.  I  freely  admit  the 
truth  of  what  wo  in '>n-~e  formers  tell  us,  that  it  is  the  ad- 
miration of  us  men  that  stimulates  tuc  love  of  dress  in 
women.  It  is  a  fact— I  confess  it  with  tears  in  my  eyes— 
but  it  is  the  truth,  that  we  are  blindly  enchanted  by  that 
play  of  fancy  and  poetry  in  their  externals,  which  is  for- 
ever denied  to  us;  and  that  we  look  wilh  our  indulgent 
eyes  even  on  what  the  French  statesman  calls  their  "  fu- 
rcurs  de  to  lette. 

In  tact,  woman's  finery  never  looks  to  another  woman  as 
it  do' s  to  a  man.  It  has  to  us  a  charm,  a  sacredness,  that 
they  cannot  comprehend. 

Under  my  wife's  instruction  I  became  an  expert  guar- 
dian of  these  filmy  treasures  of  the  wardrobe,  and  knew 
how  to  fold  and  unfold,  and  bring  hijr  everything  in  its 
place,  as  she  daily  performed  for  me  the  charming  work 
of  making  up  her  toilet.  To  be  sure,  my  slowness  and 
clumsiness  brought  me  many  brisk  little  lectures,  but  my 
good  will  and  docility  were  so  great  that  my  small  sover- 
eign declared  herself  on  the  whoie  satisfied  with  my  prog- 
ress. There  was  a  vapory  collection  apparently  made  up 
of  bits  a;id  en^s  of  rainbows,  flosses  of  clouds,  spangles  of 
stars,  butterflies  and  humming  bird's  wings,  which  she 
turned  and  tossed  over  daily,  with  her  dainty  fingers, 
se'ectiog  a  bit  here  and  a  morsel  there,  which  went  to 
her  hair,  or  her  neck,  or  her  girdle,  with  a  wonderful 


Jfl"  WIFE'S   WARDROBE.  431 

appropriateness,  and  in  a  manner  to  me  wholly  incom- 
prehensible ;  only  the  result  was  a  new  picture  every 
day.  This  little,  artless  tableau  was  expensive  neither 
of  time  nor  money,  and  the  result  was  a  great  deal  of 
very  honest  pleasure  to  us  both.  It  was  her  pride  to  be 
praised  and  admired  first  by  me,  and  then  by  my  mother, 
and  aunt,  and  uacle  Jacob,  who  turned  her  round  aud  ad- 
mired her,  as  if  she  had  been  some  rare  tropical  flower. 

Now,  do  the  very  alarmingly  rational  women-reformers 
I  speak  of  propose  to  forbid  to  women  in  the  future  all 
the  use  of  clothes  except  that  which  is  best  adapted  to 
purposes  of  work  *?  Is  the  time  at  hand  when  the  veil 
and  orange  flowers  and  satin  slippers  of  the  bride  shall 
melt  away  into  mist,  and  shall  we  behold  at  the  altar  the 
union  of  young  parties,  dressed  alike  in  swallow-tailed 
coats  and  broadcloth  pantaloons,  with  brass  buttons? 

If  this  picture  seems  absurd,  then,  it  must  be  admitted 
that  there  is  a  reason  in  nature  why  the  dress  of  woman 
should  forever  remain  different  from  that  of  man,  in  the 
same  manner  that  the  hand  of  her  Creator  has  shaped  her 
delicate  limbs  and  golden  hair  differently  from  the  rugged 
organization  of  man.  Woman  was  meant  to  be  more  than 
a  worker ;  she  was  meant  for  the  poet  and  artist  of  life  ; 
she  was  meant  to  be  the  charmer;  and  that  is  the  reason, 
dear  Miss  Minerva,  why  to  the  end  of  time  you  cannot  help 
it  that  women  always  will,  and  must,  give  more  care  and 
thought  to  dress  than  men. 

To  be  sure,  this  runs  into  a  thousand  follies  and  ex- 
travagances ;  but  in  this  as  in  everything  else  the  reme- 
dy is  not  extirpation,  but  direction. 

Certainly  my  pretty  wife's  pretty  toilets  had  a  success 
in  our  limited  circle,  which  might  possibly  have  been 
denied  in  fashionable  society  at  Saratoga  and  Newport. 
She  was  beau*y,  color,  and  life  to  our  little  world,  and 
followed  by  almost  adoring  eyes  wherever  she  went.  It 
was  as  real  an  accession  of  light  and  joy  to  the  simple 
ways  of  our  household  to  have  her  there,  as  a  choice 


432  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

picture,  or  a  marvelous  strain  of  music.  My  wife  had 
to  perfection  the  truly  artistic  gift  of  dress.  Had  she 
lived  in  Eobinson  Crusoe's  island  with  no  one  to  look 
at  her  but  the  paroquets  and  the  monkeys,  and  with  no 
mirror  but  a  pool  of  water,  she  would  have  made  a  care- 
ful toilet  every  day,  from  the  mere  love  of  beauty ;  and 
it  was  delightful  to  see  how  a  fresh,  young,  charming 
woman,  by  this  faculty  of  adornment,  seemed  to  make 
the  whole  of  the  sober,  old  house  like  a  picture  or  a 
poem. 

"She  is  like  the  blossom  on  a  cactus,7'  said  my  Uncle 
Jacob.  "  We  have  come  to  our  flower,  in  her  ;  we  have  it 
in  us ;  we  all  like  it,  but  she  brings  it  out;  she  is  our  blos- 
som," 

In  fact,  it  was  charming  to  see  the  delight  of  the  two 
sober,  elderly  matrons,  my  mother  and  my  aunt,  in  turn- 
ing over  and  surveying  the  pretty  things  of  her  toilet. 
My  mother,  with  all  her  delicate  tastes  and  love  oi!  line- 
ness  and  exquisiteness,  had  lived  in  these  respects  the 
self-denied  life  of  a  poor  country  minister,  who  never 
has  but  one  "best  pocket  handkerchief,"  and  whom  one 
pair  of  gloves  must  last  through  a  year.  It  was  a  fresh 
little  scene  of  delight  to  see  the-  two  way-worn  matrons 
in  the  calm,  silvery  twilight  of  their  old  age,  sitting  like 
a  pair  of  amicable  doves  on  the  trunks  in  our  room, 
while  my  wife  displayed  to  them  all  her  little  store  of 
fineries,  and  all  three  chatted  them  over  with  as  whole- 
hearted a  zeal  as  if  finery  were  one  of  the  final  ends  in 
creation. 

Every  morning  it  was  a  part  of  the  family  breakfast  to 
admire  some  new  device  of  berries  or  blossoms  adapted 
to  her  toilet.  Now,  it  was  knots  of  blue  violets,  and  now 
clusters  of  apple  blossoms,  that  seemed  to  adapt  them- 
selves to  the  purpose,  as  if  they  had  been  made  for  it. 
In  the  same  manner  she  went  about  the  house  filling  all 
possible  flower  vases  with  quaint  and  original  combina- 
tions of  leaves  and  blossoms  till  the  house  bloomed  like  a 
garland. 


MY  WIFE'S  WARDROBE.  433 

Then  there  were  days  when  I  have  the  vision  of  my  wife 
in  calico  dress  and  crisp  white  apron,  taking  lessons  in 
ornamental  housewifery  of  my  mother  and  aunt  in  the 
great,  clean  kitchen.  There  the  three  proceeded  with  all 
care  and  solemnity  to  perform  the  incantations  out  of 
which  arose  strange  savory  compounds  of  cakes  and  con- 
fections, whose  recipes  were  family  heir-looms.  Out  of 
great  platters  of  egg-whites,  whipped  into  foamy  masses, 
these  mystical  dainties  arose,  as  of  old  rose  Venus  from  the 
foam  of  the  sea. 

I  observe  that  the  elderly  priestesses  in  the  temple  of 
domestic  experience,  have  a"  peculiar  pride  and  pleasure 
in  the  young  neophyte  that  seeks  admission  to  these  Eleu- 
siuian  mysteries. 

Eva  began  to  wear  an  air  of  precocious  matronly  gravity, 
as  she  held  long  discourses  with  my  mother  and  aunt  on 
all  the  high  mysteries  of  household  ways,  following  them 
even  to  the  deepest  recesses  of  the  house  where  they  dis- 
played to  her  their  hidden  treasures  of  tine  linen  and 
napery,  and  drew  forth  gifts  wherewith  to  enrich  our 
future  home- 
In  the  olden  times  the  family  linen  of  a  bride  was  of 
her  own  spinning  and  that  of  her  mother  and  kinswomen  ; 
so  that  every  thread  in  it  had  a  sacredness  of  family  life 
and  association.  One  can  fancy  dreams  of  peace  could 
come  in  a  bed,  every  thread  of  whose  linen  has  been 
spun  by  loving  and  sainted  hands.  So,  the  gift  to  my  wife 
from  my  mother  was  some  of  this  priceless  old  linen, 
every  piece  of  which  had  its  story.  These  towels  were 
spun  by  a  beloved  aunt  Avis,  whose  life  was  a  charming 
story  of  faith  and  patience ;  and  those  sheets  and  pillow- 
cases were  the  work  of  my  mother's  mother;  they  had  been 
through  the  history  of  a  family  hfe,  and  came  to  us 
fragrant  with  rosemary  and  legend.  We  touched  them 
with  reverence,  as  the  relics  of  ascended  saints. 

Then  there  were  the  family  receipt  books,  which  had  a 
quaint  poetry  of  their  own.  I  must  confess,  in  the  face  of 


434  Jf  r  WIFE  AND  I. 

the  modern  excellent  pnnted  manuals  of  cookery  and 
housekeeping,  a  tenderness  for  these  old-fashioned  receipt 
books  of  our  mothers  and  grandmothers,  yellow  with  age, 
whore  in  their  own  handwriting  are  the  records  of  their 
attainments  and  discoveries  in  the  art  of  making  life 
healthful  and  charming.  There  was  a  loving  carefulness 
about  these  receipts— an  evident  breathing  of  human  expe- 
rience and  family  life— they  were  entwined  with  so  many 
associations  of  the  tastes  and  habits  of  individual  members 
of  the  family,  that  the  reading  of  my  mother's  receipt- 
book  seemed  to  bring  back  all  the  old  pictures  of  home- 
life  ;  and  this  precious  manual  she  gave  to  Eva,  who  forth- 
with resolved  to  set  up  one  of  her  own  on  the  model  of  it. 

In  short,  by  the  time  our  honeymoon  had  passed,  Eva 
regarded  herself  as  a  passed  mistress  in  the  grand  free- 
masonry of  home  life,  and  assumed  toward  me  those 
grave  little  airs  of  instruction  blent  with  gracious  conde- 
scension for  male  inferiority  which  obtain  among  good 
wives.  She  began  to  be  my  little  mother  no  less  taau 
wife. 

My  mother  and  aunt  were  confident  of  her  success  and 
abilities  as  queen  in  her  new  dominions.  It  was  evident 
that  though  a  city  girl  and  a  child  of  wealth  and  fashion, 
she  had  what  Yankee  matrons  are  pleased  to  denominate 
"faculty,"  which  is,  being  interpreted,  a  genius  for  home 
life,  and  she  was  only  impatient  now  to  return  to  her  realm 
and  set  up  her  kingdom. 


LETTERS  FROM  NEW  YORK.  -185 


CHAPTER     XLVI. 

LETTERS    FROM    NEW    YORK. 

]BOUT  this  time  we  got  a  very  characteristic  letter 
from  Jim.    Here  it  is  : 

Dear  Hal:—  My  head  buzzes  like  a  swarm  of 
bees.  What  haven't  I  done  since  you  left  ?  The  Van  Ars- 
dels  are  all  packing  up  and  getting  ready  to  move  out,  and 
of  course  I  have  been  up  making  myself  generally  useful 
there.  I  have  been  daily  call-boy  and  page  to  the  adorable 
Alice.  Mein  :—  That  girl  is  a  'brick-!  Didn't  use  to  think 
so,  but  she's  sublime  !  The  way  she  takes  things  is  so 
confounded  sensible  and  steady  !  I  respect  her  —  there's 
not  a  bit  of  nonsense  about  her  now—  you'd  better  believe. 
They  are  all  going  up  to  the  old  paternal  farm  to  spend 
the  summer  with  his  father,  and  by  Fall  there'll  be  an 
arrangement  to  give  him  an  income  (Van  Arsdel  I  mean), 
so  that  they'll  have  something  to  go  on.  They'll  take  a 
house  somewhere  in  New  York  in  the  Fall  and  do  fairly  ; 
but  think  what  a  change  to  Alice  ! 

Oh,  by  the  by,  Hal,  the  Whang  Doodle  has  made  her 
appi'u  ranee  in  our  parts  again.  Yesterday  as  I  sat  scratch- 
ing for  dear  life,  our  friend  'Dacia  sailed  in,  cock's  feath- 
ers and  all,  large  as  life.  She  was  after  money,  as  usual  < 
but  this  time  it's  her  book  she  insisted  on  my  subscribing 
for.  She  informed  me  that  it  was  destined  to  regenerato 
society,  and  she  wanted  five  dollars  for  it.  The  title  is  : 

THE    UNIVERSAL     EMPYREAL    HAKMONIAD, 


An  Exposition  of  the  Dual   Triplicate 
Conglomeration  of  the  Infinite. 


There,  now,  is  a  book  for  you. 


436  MY  WIFE  AND  1. 

'Dacia  was  in  high  spirits,  jaunty  as  ever,  and  informed 
me  that  the  millennium  was  a-coming  straight  along,  and 
favored  me  with  her  views  of  how  they  intended  to  manage 
things  in  the  good  time. 

The  great  mischief  at  present,  she  informs  me,  lies  in 
possessive  pronouns,  which  they  intend  to  abolish.  There 
isn't  to  be  any  my  or  thy.  Everybody  is  to  have  everything 
just  the  minute  they  happen  to  want  it,  and  everybody  else 
is  to  let  'em.  Marriage  is  an  old  effete  institution,  a  relic  of 
barbarous  ages.  There  is  to  be  no  my  of  husband  and  wife, 
and  no  my  of  children.  The  State  is  to  raise  all  the  chil- 
dren as  they  do  turnips  in  great  institutions,  and  they 
are  to  belong  to  everybody.  Love,  she  informed  me,  in 
those  delightful  days  is  to  be  free  as  air ;  everybody  to 
do  exactly  as  they've  a  mind  to  ;  a  privilege  she  remarked 
that  she  took  now  as  her  right.  "  If  I  see  a  man  that 
pleases  me,"  said  she,  "  I  shall  not  ask  Priest  or  Levite  for 
leave  to  have  him."  This  was  declared  wilh  so  martial  an 
air  that  I  shrank  a  little,  but  she  relieved  me  by  saying, 
"You  needn't  be  frightened.  I  don't  want  you.  You 
wouldn't  suit  me.  All  I  want  of  you  is  your  money." 
Whereat  she  came  down  to  business  again. 

The  book  she  informed  me  was  every  word  of  it  dictated 
by  spirits  while  she  was  in  the  trance  state,  and  was  com- 
posed conjointly  by  Socrates,  St.  Paul,  Ching  Ling,  and 
Jim  Crow,  representing  different  races  of  the  earth  and 
states  of  progression.  From  some  specimens  of  the  style 
which  she  read  to  me,  I  was  led  to  hope  that  we  might 
all  live  as  long  as  possible,  if  that  sort  of  thing  is  what 
we  are  coming  to  after  death. 

Well,  it  was  all  funny  and  entertaining  enough  to  hear 
her  go  on,  but  when  it  came  to  buying  the  book  and  plank- 
ing the  V,  I  flunked.  Told  'Dacia  I  couldn't  encourage  her 
in  possessive  pronouns,  that  she  had  no  more  right  to  the 
book  than  I  had,  that  truth  was  a  universal  birthright,  and 
so  the  truths  in  that  book  were  mine  as  much  as  hers,  and 
as  I  needed  a  Y  more  than  she  did  I  proposed  she  should 


LETTERS  FROM  NEW  YORK.  437 

buy  the  book  of  me.  Sha  didn't  see  it  in  that  light,  and  we 
had  high  words  in  consequence,  and  she  poured  down  on  me 
like  a  thousand  of  brick,  and  so  I  coolly  walked  down 
stairs,  telling  her  when  she  had  done  scolding  to  shut  the 
door. 

Isn't  she  a  case1?  The  Dominie  was  up  in  his  den,  and 
I  believe  she  got  at  him  after  I  left.  How  he  managed 
her  I  don't  know.  He  won't  talk  about  her.  The  Do- 
minie is  working  like  a  Trojan,  and  his  family  are  doing 
finely.  The  kittens  are  all  over  his  room  with  as  many 
capers  as  the  fairies,  and  I  hear  him  laughing  all  by  him- 
self at  the  way  they  go  on.  We  have  looked  at  a  dozen 
houses  advertised  in  the  paper,  but  not  one  yet  is  the  bar- 
gain you  want ;  but  we  trudge  on  the  quest  all  our  exercise- 
time  daily.  It  will  turn  up  yet,  I'm  convinced,  the  very 
thing  you  want. 

Heigho,  Hal,  you  are  a  lucky  dog.  I'm  like  a  lean  old  nag 
out  on  a  common,  looking  over  a  fence  and  seeing  you  in 
clover  up  to  your  hat-band.  If  my  kettle  only  could  boil 
for  two  I'd  risk  about  the  possessive  pronouns.  To  say  the 
truth  I  am  tired  of  I  and  my,  and  would  like  to  say  we  and 
our  if  I  dared. 

Come  home  any  way  and  kindle  your  tent  fire,  and  let  a 
poor  tramp  warm  himself  at  it. 

Your  dog  and  slave,  JIM. 

Bol ton's  letter  was  as  follows : 

Dear  Hal :— I  promised  you  a  family  cat,  but  I  am  going 
to  do  better  by  you.  There  is  a  pair  of  my  kittens  that 
would  bring  laughter  to  the  cheeks  of  a  dying  anchorite. 
They  are  just  the  craziest  specimens  of  pure  jollity  that 
flesh,  blood,  and  fur  could  be  wrought  into.  Who  wants 
a  comic  opera  at  a  dollar  a  night  when  a  family  cat  will 
supply  eight  kittens  a  year?  Nobody  seems  to  have  found 
out  what  kittens  are  for.  I  do  believe  these  two  kittens  of 
mine  would  cure  the  most  obstinate  hypochondria  of  mor- 
tal man,  and,  think  of  it,  I  am  going  to  give  them  to  you  1 


438  JfF  WIFE  AND  I. 

Their  names  are  Whisky  and  Frisky,  and  their  ways  are 
past  finding  out. 

The  house  in  which  the  golden  age  pastoral  is  to  be 
enacted  has  not  yet  been  found.  It  is  somewhere  in  fairy 
land,  and  will  probably  suddenly  appear  to  you  as  things 
used  to,  to  good  knights  in  enchanted  forests. 

Jim  and  I  went  down  to  the  steamer  yesterday  to  see 
Miss  Van  Arsdel  and  your  cousin  off  for  Europe.  They 
are  part  of  a  very  pleasant  party  that  are  going  together 
and  seem  in  high  spirits.  I  find  her  articles  (your  cousin's) 
take  well,  and  there  is  an  immediate  call  for  more.  So  far, 
good!  Stay  your  month  out,  my  boy,  and  get  all  you  can 
out  of  it  be  fore  you  come  back  to  the  "dem'd  horrid  ^ricd7' 
of  New  York.  Ever  yours,  BOLTOX. 

P.  S. — While  I  have  been  writing,  Whisky  and  Frisky 
have  pitched  into  a  pile  of  the  proof-sheets  of  your  Milky 
Way  story,  and  performed  a  ballet  dance  with  them  so  that 
they  are  rather  the  worse  for  wear.  No  fatal  harm  done 
however,  and  I  find  it  reads  capitally.  I  met  Hestermaim 
yesterday  quite  enthusiastic  over  one  of  your  articles  in  the 
Democracy  that  happened  to  hit  his  fancy,  and  plumed  my- 
self to  him  for  having  secured  you  next  year  for  his  ser- 
vice. So  you  see  your  star  ie  in  the  ascendant.  The  Hes- 
termanns  are  liberal  fellows,  and  the  place  you.  have  is  as 
sure  as  the  Bank  of  England.  So  your  pastoral  will  have  a 
good  bit  of  earthly  ground  to  begin  on.  B. 

The  next  was  from  Alice. 

Dear  Sister: — I  am  so  tired  out  with  packing,  and  all  the 
thousand  and  one  things  that  have  to  be  attended  to !  You 
know  mamma  is  not  strong,  and  now  you  and  Ida  are 
gone,  I  am  the  eldest  daughter,  and  take  everything  on  my 
shoulders.  Aunt  Maria  comes  here  daily,  looking  like  a 
hearse,  and  I  really  think  she  depresses  mamma  as  much 
by  her  lugubrious  ways  as  she  helps.  She  positively  is  a 
most  provoking  person.  She  assumes  with  such  certainty 
that  mamma  is  a  fool,  and  that  all  that  has  happened  out 


LETTERS  FROM  NEW  YORK.  4^9 

of  the  way  comes  by  some  fault  of  hers,  that  when  she  lias 
been  here  a  day  mamma  is  sure  to  have  a  headache.  But 
I  have  discovered  faculties  and  strength  I  never  knew  I 
possessed.  I  have  taken  on  myself  the  whole  work  of  sep- 
arating the  things  we  are  to  keep  from  those  which  are  to 
be  sold,  and  those  which  we  are  to  take  into  the  country 
\vith  us,  from  those  which  are  to  be  stored  in  New  York 
for  our  return.  I  don't  know  what  I  should  bave  done  if 
Jini  Fellows  hadn't  been  the  real  considerate  friend  he  is. 
Papa  is  overwhelmed  with  settling  up  business  matters, 
and  one  wants  to  save  him  every  care,  and  Jim  has  really 
been  like  a  brother— looking  up  a  place  to  store  the  goods, 
finding  just  the  nicest  kind  of  a  man  to  cart  them,  and 
actually  coming  in  and  packing  for  me,  till  I  told  him  I 
knew  he  must  be  giving  us  time  that  he  wanted  for  himself 
— and  all  this  with  so  much  fun  and  jollification  that  we 
really  have  had  some  merry  times  over  it,  and  quite 
shocked  Aunt  Maria,  who  insists  on  maintaining  a  general 
demeanor  as  if  there  were  a  corpse  in  the  house. 

One  wicked  thing  about  Jim  is  that  he  will  take  her  off; 
and  though  I  scold  him  for  it,  between  you  and  me,  Eva, 
and  in  the  "  buzzom  of  the  family,"  as  old  Mrs.  Knabbs 
used  to  say,  I  must  admit  that  it's  a  little  too  funny  for 
anything.  He  can  make  himself  look  and  speak  exactly 
like  her,  and  breaks  out  in  that  way  every  once  in  a 
while;  and  if  we  reprove  him,  says,  "What's  the  matter? 
Who  are  you  thinking  of  ?  I  wasn't  thinking  of  what 
you  were."  He  is  a  dreadful  rogue,  and  one  can't  do  any- 
thing with  him ;  but  what  we  should  have  done  without. 
him,  I'm  sure  I  don't  know. 

Sophie  Eltuore  called  the  other  day,  and  told  me  all 
about  things  between  her  and  Sydney.  She  is  sending  to 
Paris  for  all  her  things,  and  Tullegig's  is  all  in  commo- 
tion. They  are  to  be  married  early  in  October  and  go  off 
for  a  tour  in  Europe.  You  ought  to  see  the  gloom  on 
Aunt  Maria's  visage  when  the  thing  is  talked  about.  If 
it  had  been  anybody  but  the  Elmores  I  think  Aunt  Maria 


440  MY  WIFE  AND  1. 

could  have  survived  it,  but  they  have  been  her  Mordecni  in 
the  gate  all  this  time,  and  now  she  sees  them  triumphant. 
She  speaks  familiarly  about  our  being  ruined,  and  finally 
the  other  day  I  told  her  that  I  found  ruin  altogether  a 
more  comfortable  thing  than  I  expected,  whereat  she  looked 
at  me  as  if  I  TV  ere  an  abandoned  sinner,  sighed  deeply, 
and  said  nothing.  Poor  soul !  I  oughtn't  to  laugh,  but  she 
does  provoke  me  so  I  am  tempted  to  revenge  myself  in  a 
little  quiet  fun  at  her  expense. 

The  other  day  Jim  was  telling  me  about  a  house  Le 
had  been  looking  at.  Aunt  Maria  listened  with  a  severe 
gravity  and  interposed  with,  "Of  course  nobody  could  live 
on  that  street.  Eva  would  be  crazy  to  think  of  it.  There 
isn't  a  good  family  within  squares  of  that  quarter." 

I  said  you  didn't  care  for  fashion,  and  slje  gave  me  one  of 
her  looks  and  said,  "  I  trust  I  sha'n't  see  Eva  in  that  street ; 
none  but  most  ordinary  people  live  there."  Only  think, 
Eva,  what  if  you  should  live  on  a  street  where  ordinary 
people  live "?  How  dreadful ! 

Well,  darling,  I  can't  write  more;  my  hands  are  dusty 
with  packing  and  overhauling,  and  I  am  writing  now  on 
the  top  of  a  box  waiting  for  the  man  to  cart  away  the  next 
load.  We  are  all  well,  and  the  girls  behave  charmingly, 
and  are  just  as  handy  and  helpful  as  they  can  be,  and 
mamma  says  she  never  knew  the  comfort  of  her  children 
before. 

Grod  bless  you,  dear,  and  good  by, 

Your  loving  ALICE. 


A UNT  MARIA 'S  DICTUM.  44 1 


CHAPTER    XLVII. 

AUNT  MARIA'S  DICTUM. 


UR  lovely  moon  of  moons  had  now  waned,  and 
the  time  drew  on   when,  like  Adam  and  Eve, 
we  were  hand   in  hand  to  turn  our  backs  on 
Paradise  and  set  our  faces  toward  the  battle  of  life. 

"  The  world  was  all  before  us  where  to  choose."  In 
just  this  crisis  WB  got  the  following  from  Aunt  Maria : 

My  Dear  Eva: — Notwithstanding  all  that  has  passed,  I 
cannot  help  writing  to  show  that  interest  in  your  affairs, 
which  it  may  be  presumed,  as  your  aunt  and  godmother, 
I  have  some  right  to  feel,  and  though  I  knoiv  that  my 
advice  always  has  been  disregarded,  still  I  think  it  my 
duty  to  speak,  and  shall  speak. 

Of  course,  as  I  have  not  been  consulted  or  taken  into 
your  confidence  at  all,  this  may  seem  like  interference, 
but  I  overheard  Mr.  Fellows  talking  with  Alice  about 
looking  for  houses  for  you,  and  I  must  tell  you  that  I 
am  astonished  that  you  should  think  of  such  a  thing. 
Housekeeping  is  very  expensive,  if  you  keep  house  with 
the  least  attention  to  appearance;  and  genteel  board  can 
be  obtained  at  a  far  less  figure.  Then  as  to  your  in- 
vesting the  little  that  your  grandmother  left  you  in  a 
house,  it  is  something  that  shows  such  childish  ignor- 
ance as  really  is  pitiable.  I  don't  suppose  either  you  or 
your  husband  ever  priced  an  article  of  furniture  at  David 
and  Saul's  in  your  lives,  and  have  not  the  smallest  idea 
of  the  cost  of  all  those  things  which  a  house  makes  at 
once  indispensable.  You  fancy  a  house  arranged  as  you 
have  always  seen  your  father's,  and  do  not  know  that  the 


442  MY  WIFE  AND  L 

kind  of  marriage  you  liave  chosen  places  ail  these  luxu- 
ries wholly  out  of  your  reach.  Then  as  to  the  house 
itself,  the  whole  of  your  little  property  would  go  but  a 
small  way  toward  giving  you  a  dwelling  any  way  respect- 
able for  you  to  live  in. 

It  is  true  there  are  cheap  little  houses  in  New  York,  but 
where,  and  on  what  streets?  You  would  not  want  to  live 
among  mechanics  and  dentists,  small  clerks,  and  people 
of  that  description.  Everything  when  one  is  first  married 
depends  on  taking  a  right  stand  in  the  beginning.  Of 
course,  since  the  ruin  that  has  come  on  your  father,  and 
with  which  you  will  see  I  never  reproach  you,  though 
you  might  have  prevented  it,  it  is  necessary  for  all  of  us 
to  be  doubly  careful.  Everybody  is  very  kind  and  con- 
siderate, and  people  have  called  and  continue  to  invite 
us,  and  we  may  maintain  our  footing  as  before,  if  we 
give  our  whole  mind  to  it,  as  evidently  it  is  our  duty  to 
do,  paying  proper  attention  to  appearances.  I  have  par- 
tially engaged  a  place  for  you,  subject  of  course  to  your 
and  your  husband's  approval,  at  Mivart's,  which  is  a  place 
that  can  be  spoken  of— a  place  where  the  best  sort  of  peo- 
ple are.  Mrs.  Mivart  is  a  protegee  of  mine,  and  is  willing 
to  take  you  at  a  considerable  reduction,  if  you  take  a 
small  back  room.  Thus  you  will  have  no  cares,  and  no 
obligations  of  hospitality,  and  be  able  to  turn  your  re- 
sources all  to  keeping  up  the  proper  air  and  appearances, 
which  with  the  present  shocking  pric:s  for  everything, 
silks,  gloves,  shoes,  etc.,  and  the  requirements  of  the  times, 
are  something  quite  frightful  to  contemplate. 

The  course  of  conduct  I  have  indicated  seems  specially 
necessary  in  view  of  Alice's  future.  The  blight  that  conies 
on  all  her  prospects  in  this  dreadful  calamity  of  your 
father's  is  something  that  lies  with  weight  on  nay  mind. 
A  year  ago  Alice  might  have  commanded  the  very  best 
of  offers,  and  we  had  every  reason  to  hope  such  an  estab- 
lishment for  her  as  her  beauty  and  accomplishments  ought 
to  bring.  It  is  a  mercy  to  think  that  she  will  still  be  in- 


AUNT  MARIA'S  DICTUM.  44:5 

vited  and  have  her  chances,  though  she  will  have  to  strug- 
gle with  her  limited  means  to  keep  up  a  proper  style; 
but  with  energy  and  attention  it  can  be  done.  1  havo 
known  girls  capable  of  making,  in  secret,  dresses  and 
bonnets  that  were  ascribed  to  the  first  artists.  The  pulled 
tulle  in  which  Sallie  Morton  came  to  your  last  German  was 
wholly  of  her  own  make— although  of  course  this  was  told 
me  in  confidence  by  her  mother  and  ought  to  go  no  further. 
But  if  you  take  a  mean  little  house  among  ordinary  low 
classes,  and  live  in  a  poor,  cheap,  and  scrubby  way,  of  course 
you  cut  yourself  off  from  society,  and  you  see  it  degrades 
the  whole  family.  I  am  sure,  as  I  told  your  mother,  noth- 
ing but  your  inexperience  would  lead  you  to  think  of  it, 
and  your  husband  being  a  literary  man  naturally  would 
not  understand  considerations  of  this  nature.  1  have  seen 
a  good  deal  of  life,  and  I  give  it  as  the  result  of  my  obser- 
vation that  there  are  two  things  that  very  materially  influ- 
ence standing  in  society;  the  part  of  the  city  we  live  in, 
and  the  church  we  go  to.  Of  course,  I  presume  you  will 
not  think  of  leaving  your  church,  which  has  in  it  the  most 
Stlect  circles  of  New  York.  A  wife's  religious  consolations 
are  things  no  husband  should  interfere  with,  and  I  trust  you 
will  not  fling  away  your  money  on  a  mean  little  house  in  a 
fit  of  childish  ignorance.  You  will  want  the  iccome  of  that 
money  for  your  dress,  and  carriages  for  calls  and  other 
items  essential  to  keep  up  life. 

I  suppose  you  have  heard  that  the  Elmores  are  making 
extensive  preparations  for  Sophie's  wedding  in  the  Full. 
When  I  see  the  vanity  and  instability  of  earthly  richer,  I 
cannot  but  be  glad  that  there  is  a  better  world ;  the  conso- 
lations of  religion  at  times  are  all  one  has  to  turn  to.  Be 
careful  of  your  health,  my  dear  child,  and  don't  wet  your 
feet.  From  your  letters  I  should  infer  that  you  were  need- 
lessly going  into  very  damp  unpleasant  places.  Write  me 
immediately  what  1  am  to  tell  them  at  Mivart's. 

Your  affectionate  aunt, 

MARIA  WOUVERMANS. 


444  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

It  was  as  good  as  a  play  to  see  my  wife's  face  as  she  read 
this  letter,  with  flushed  cheeks  and  an  impatient  tapping 
of  her  little  foot  that  foreboded  an  outburst. 

"  Just  like  her  for  all  the  world,"  she  said,  tossing  the 
letter  to  me,  which  1  read  with  vast  amusement. 

"  We'll  have  a  house  of  our  own  as  quick  as  we  can  get 
one,"  she  said.  "  I  think  I  see  myself  gossipping  in  a  board- 
ing house,  banging  on  to  the  outskirts  of  fashion  in  the  way 
she  plans,  making  puffed  tulle  dresses  in  secret  places  and 
wearing  out  life  to  look  as  if  I  were  as  rich  as  I  am  not,  and 
trying  to  keep  step  with  people  of  five  times  our  income. 
If  you  catch  Eva  Yan  Arsdel  at  that  game,  then  tell  me ! ' 

"  Eva  Van  Arsdel  is  a  being  of  the  past,  fortunately  for 
me,  darling." 

"  Well,  Eva  Van  Arsdel  Henderson,  then,"  said  she. 
"That  compound  personage  is  stronger  and  more  defiant 
of  worldly  nonsense  than  the  old  Eva  dared  1o  be." 

"And  I  think  your  aunt  has  no  idea  of  what  there  is 
developing  in  Alice." 

"  To  be  sure  she  hasn't ;  not  the  remotest.  Alice  is  proud 
and  sensible,  proud  in  the  proper  way  I  mean.  She  was 
full  willing  to  take  the  goods  the  gods  provided  while  she 
had  them,  but  she  never  will  stoop  to  all  the  worries,  and 
cares,  and  little  mean  artifices  of  genteel  poverty.  She 
never  will  dress  and  go  out  on  hunting  expeditions  to 
catch  a  rich  husband.  I  always  said  Alice's  mind  lay  in 
two  strata,  the  upper  one  worldly  and  ambitious,  the 
second  generous  and  high  minded.  Our  fall  from  wealth 
has  been  like  a  land  slide,  the  upper  stratum  has  slid  off 
and  left  the  lower.  Alice  will  now  show  that  she  is  both  a 
strong  and  noble  woman.  Our  engagement  and  marriage 
has  wholly  converted  her,  and  she  has  stood  by  me  like  a 
little  Trojan  all  along." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  about  this  letter  I" 

"  Oh  !  you  answer  it  for  me.  It's  time  Aunt  Maria  learned 
that  there  is  a  man  to  the  fore ;  besides  you  are  not  vexed, 
you  are  only  amused,  and  you  can  write  a  diplomatic 
letter." 


AUNT  MARIA'S  DICTUM.  44~> 

"And  toll  her  sweetly  and  politely,  with  all  ruffles  and 
trimmings,  that  it  is  none  of  her  business?"  said  I 

"Yes,  just  that,  but  of  course  with  all  possible  homage 
of  your  high  consideration.  Then  tell  we  can  find  a  house. 
I  suppose  we  can  find  nice  country  board  for  the  hot 
months  near  New  York,  where  you  can  cojie  out  every 
night  on  the  railroad  and  stay  Sundays." 

"  Exactly.  I  have  the  place  all  thought  of  and  terms 
arranged  long  ago.  A  charming  Quaker  family  where  you 
will  find  the  best  of  fruit,  and  the  nicest  of  board,  and  the 
quietest  and  gentlest  of  hosts,  all  for  a  sum  quite  within 
our  means. 

"And  then,"  said  she,  "by  Fall  I  trust  we  shall  find 
a  house  to  suit  us." 

"  Certainly,"  said  I.  "  I  have  faith  that  such  a  house  is 
all  waiting  for  us  somewhere  in  the  unknown  future.  We 
are  traveling  toward  it,  and  shall  know  it  when  we  see  it." 

"  Just  think,"  said  my  wife,  "of  Aunt  Maria  as  suggest- 
ing that  we  should  board  so  that  we  could  shirk  all  obi  i  •_••;:- 
tioas  of  hospitality !  What's  life  good  for  if  you  can't  have 
your  friends  with  you,  and  make  people  happy  under  your 
roof?" 

"And  who  would  think  of  counting  the  money  spent 
in  hospitality?"  said  I. 

"  Yet  I  have  heard  of  people  who  purposely  plan  to  have 
no  spare  room  in  their  house,"  answered  Eva  "  I  remem- 
ber, now,  Aunt  Maria's  speaking  of  Mrs.  Jacobs  with  ap- 
probation for  just  this  piece  of  economy." 

"  By  which  she  secures  money  for  paity  dresses  and  a 
brilliant  annual  entertainment  1  suppose,"  said  I. 

"  Well,"  said  Eva,  "  I  have  always  imagined  my  home 
with  friends  in  it.  A  warm  peculiar  corner  for  each  one 
of  yours  and  mine.  It  is  the  very  charm  of  the  prospect 
when  I  figure  this,  that,  and  the  other  one  enjoying  with  us, 
and  then  I  have  the  great  essential  ofj'  help  "  secured.  Do 
you  know  that  there  was  one  Mary  McClellan  married  from 
our  house  years  ago  who  was  a  perfect  adorer  at  my  shrine 


446  MY  WIFE  AND  1. 

and  always  begged  me  to  be  married  that  she  might  come 
and  live  with  me  *?  Now  she  is  a  widow  with  a  little  girl 
eight  years  old,  and  it  ia  the  desire  of  her  heart  to  get 
a  place  where  she  can  have  her  child  with  her.  It  will  fit 
exactly.  The  little  cub,  under  my  training,  can  wait  on  tho 
table  and  tend  the  door,  and  Mary  will  be  meanwhile  a 
motber  to  me  in  my  inexperience." 

"  Capital !"  said  I.  "  I  am  sure  our  star  is  in  the  ascendant, 
and  we  shall  hear  from  our  house  before  the  summer  is 
through." 

One  day,  near  the  first  of  October,  while  up  for  a  Sunday 
at  our  country  boarding-place,  I  got  the  following  letter 
from  Jim  Fellows : 

My  Dear  Old  Boy  : — I  think  we  have  got  it.  I  mean  got 
the  house.  I  am  not  quite  sure  what  your  wife  will  say, 
but  I  happened  to  meet  Mrss  Alice  last  night  and  I  told  her, 
and  she  says  she  is  sure  it  will  do.  Hear  and  understand. 

Coming  down  town  yesterday  I  bought  the  Herald  and 
read  to  my  joy  that  Jack  Fergus  had  been  appointed  Con- 
sul to  Algiers.  To  say  the  truth  we  fellows  have  thought 
the  game  was  pretty  much  up  with  poor  Jack  ;  his  throat 
and  lungs  are  so  bad,  and  his  family  consumptive.  So  1  said 
when  I  read  it,  '  Good !  there's  a  thing  that'll  do.'  I  went 
right  round  to  congratulate  him  and  found  three  or  four  of 
our  fellows  doing  the  same  thing.  Jack  was  pleased,  said 
it  was  all  right,  but  still  I  could  see  there  was  a  hitch 
somewhere,  and  that  in  fact  it  was  not  all  right,  and  when 
the  other  fellows  went  away  I  staid,  and  then  it  came  out. 
He  said  at  once  that  he  was  glad  of  the  appointment,  but 
that  he  had  no  money ;  the  place  at  Algiers  does  not  sup- 
port a  man.  He  will  have  to  give  up  his  bank  salary,  and 
unless  he  could  sell  his  house  for  ready  money  he  could  do 
nothing.  I  never  knew  be  bad  any  house.  Heaven  knows 
none  of  the  rest  of  us  have  got  any  houses.  But  it  seems 
some  aunt  of  his,  an  old  Knickerbocker,  left  him  one. 
Well,  I  asked  him  why  he  didn't  sell  it.  He  said  he  couldn't. 
He  had  had  two  agents  there  that  morning.  They  wouldn't 
give  him  any  encouragement  till  the  whole  place  was  sold 


•  AUNT  MARIA'S  DICTUM.  447 

together.  They  wouldn't  offer  anything,  and  would  only 
say  they  would  advertise  it  ou  his  account.  You  see  it  is- 
one  of  those  betwixt  and  between  places  which  is  going  to 
be  a  business  place,  but  isn't  yet.  So  he  Raid  ;  and  it  was 
that  which  made  me  think  of  you  and  your  wife. 

I  asked  where  it  was,  and  he  to  id  me.  It  is  one  of  those  lit- 
tle streets  that  lead  out  of  Varick  street,  if  you  know  where 
that  is,  I'll  bet  Mrs.  Henderson  a  dozen  pair  that  she  doesn't. 
Well,  I  went  with  him  to  see  it  when  the  bank  closed,  for  I 
still  thought  of  you.  By  George,  I  think  you  will  like  it.  It 
is  tiie  last  house  in  a  block,  the  street  is  dull  enough  but  is 
inhabited  by  decent  quiet  people,  who  mind  their  own  busi- 
ness. Of  course  the  respectable  Mrs.  Wouverman's  would 
think  it  an  unknown  horror  to  live  there;  and  be  quite  sure 
they  were  all  Jews  or  sorcerers,  or  some  other  sort  of  come- 
outers.  Well,  this  house  itself  is  cot  like  the  rest  of  the 
block — having  been  built  by  this  old  Aunt  Martila,  or  Van 
Beest,  or  whatever  else  her  name  was,  for  her  own  use.  It 
is  a  brick  house,  with  a  queer  stoop,  two  and  a  half  stories 
high  (the  house,  not  the  stoop),  with  a  bay-window  on  the 
end,  going  out  on  a  sort  of  a  church-yard,  across  which  you 
look  to  what  is,  I  believe,  St.  John's  Park*— a  place  with 
trees,  and  English  sparrows,  and  bird-houses  and  thiugs. 
Jack  and  his  wife  have  made  the  place  look  quite  cosy,  and 
managed  to  get  a  deal  of  comfort  out  of  it.  I  wish  I  could 
buy  it  and  take  my  wife  there  if  only  I  had  one.  TLi  *  place 
Jack  will  sell  for  eight  thousand  dollars— four  thousand 
down  and  four  thousand  on  mortgage.  E  call  that  dirt 
cheap,  and  Livingstone,  our  head  book-k?eper,  who  used  to 
be  a  house-broker,  tells  me  it  is  a  bargain  Luch  as  he  never 
heard  of,  and  that  you  can  sell  it  at  any  time  for  more 
than  that.  I  have  taken  the  refusal  for  three  days,  so  come 
down,  both  of  you,  bright  and  early  Monday  and  look  at  it." 

So  down  we  came ;  we  saw ;  we  bought.  In  a  few 
days  we  were  ready,  key  in  hand,  to  open  and  walk  into 
"Our  House." 

*  Ii  was ;  but  alas  I  since  the  recent  time  of  this  story.  Insatiate  com- 
merco  has  taken  the  old  Park  an  d  built  therein  a  hujyo  railway  freight 
depot. 


448  MY  WIFE  AND  7. 


CHAPTER    XLYIII. 

OUR  HOUSE. 

[HERE  are  certain  characteristic  words  which  the 
human  heart  loves  to  conjure  with,  and  one  of  the 
strongest  among  them  is  the  phrase,  "  Our 
house."  It  is  not  my  house,  nor  your  house,  nor  their 
house,  but  Our  House.  It  is  the  inseparable  we  who  own  it, 
and  it  is  the  we  and  the  our  that  go  a  long  way  towards  im- 
pregnating it  with  the  charm  that  makes  it  the  symbol  of 
things  most  blessed  and  eternal. 

Houses  have  their  physiognomy,  as  much  as  persons. 
There  are  common-place  houses,  suggestive  houses,  attract- 
ive houses,  mysterious  houses,  'and  fascinating  houses,  just 
as  there  are  all  these  classes  of  persons.  There  are  houses 
whose  windows  seem  to  yawn  idly — to  stare  vacantly — there 
are  houses  whose  windows  glower  weirdly,  and  look  at  you 
askance;  there  are  houses,  again,  whose  very  doors  and 
windows  seem  wide  open  with  frank  cordiality,  which  seem 
to  stretch  tbeir  arms  to  embrace  you,  and  woo  you  kindly  to 
come  and  possess  them. 

My  wife  and  I'^as  we  put  our  key  into  the  door  and  let 
ourselves  into  the  deserted  dwelling,  now  all  our  own,  said  to 
each  other  at  once  that  it  was  a  home-like  house.  It  was  built 
in  the  old  style,  when  they  had  solid  timbers  and  low  ceilings, 
with  great  beams  and  large  windows,  with  old-faslrioced. 
small  panes  of  glass,  but  there  was  about  it  a  sort  of  homely 
individuality,  and  suggestive  of  cosy  comforts.  The  front 
room  had  an  ancient  fire-place,  with  quaint  Dutch  tiles 
around  it.  The  Ferguses  had  introduced  a  furnace,  gas, 


OUR  HOUSE.  449 

and  water,  into  it ;  but  the  fire-place  in  most  of  the  rooms 
still  remained,  suggestive  of  the  old  days  in  New  York 
when  wood  was  j)lenty  and  cheap.  One  could  almost  fancy 
that  those  days  of  roaring  family  hearths  had  so  heartened 
up  the  old  chimneys  that  a  portion  of  the  ancient  warmth 
yet  inhered  in  the  house. 

"  There,  Harry,"  said  my  wife,  exultantly  pointing  to  the 
fire-place,  "  see,  this  is  the  very  thing  that  your  mother's 
brass  andirons  will  fit  into— how  charmingly  they  will  go 
with  it !" 

And  then  those  bright,  sunny  windows,  and  that  bay- 
window  looking  across  upon  those  trees  was  perfectly  lovely. 
In  fact,  the  leaves  of  the  trees  shimmering  in  October  light, 
cast  reflections  into  the  room  suggestive  .of  country  life, 
which,  fresh  from  the  country  as  we  were,  was  an  added 
charm. 

The  rooms  were  very  low  studded,  scarcely  nine  feet  in 
height — and,  by  the  by,  I  believe  that  that  feature  in  old 
Euglish  and  Dutch  house-building  is  one  that  greatly  con- 
duces to  give  an  air  of  comfort.  A  low  ceiling  insures  ease 
in  warming,  and  in  our  climate  where  one  has  to  depend  on 
fires  for  nine  months  in  the  year,  this  is  something  worth 
while.  In  general,  I  have  noticed  in  rooms  that  the  sense 
of  snugness  and  comfort  dies  out  as  the  ceiling  rises  in 
height— rooms  twelve  and  fifteen  feet  high  may  be  all  very 
grand  and  very  fine,  but  they  are  never  sociable,  they  never 
seem  to  brood  over  you,  soothe  you,  and  take  you  to  their 
heart  as  the  motherly  low -browed  room  does. 

My  wife  ran  all  over  her  new  dominions— exploring  and 
planning,  telling  me  volubly  how  she  would  arrange  them. 
The  woman  was  Queen  here ;  her  foot  was  on  her  native 
heath,  and  she  saw  capabilities  and  possibilities  with  the 
eye  of  an  artist. 

Now,  I  desire  it  to  be  understood  that  I  am  not  indifferent 
to  the  charms  of  going  to  housekeeping  full-handed.  I  do 
not  pretend  to  say  that  my  wife  and  I  should  not  have  en- 
joyed opening  our  family  reign  in  a  stone  palace,  overlook- 


450  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

ing  New  York  Central  Park,  with  all  the  charms  of  city  and 
country  life  united,  with  all  the  upholsterers  and  furniture 
shops  in  New  York  at  our  feet.  All  this  was  none  too  good 
for  our  taste  if  we  could  have  had  it,  but  since  we  could  not 
have  it,  we  took  another  kind  of  delight,  and  one  quite  as 
vivid,  in  seeing  how  charmingly  we  could  get  on  without  it. 
In  fact,  I  think  there  is  an  exultation  in  the  constant  vic- 
tory over  circumstances,  in  little  inventions,  substitutions, 
and  combinations,  rendered  necessary  by  limited  means 
which  is  wan  ing  to  those  to  whose  hand  everything  comes 
without  an  effort. 

If,  for  example,  the  brisk  pair  of  robins,  who  have  bull  tin 
the  elm  tree  opposite  to  our  bay-window,  had  had  a  nest  all 
made,  and  lined,  and  provided  for  them  to  go  into,  what  an 
amount  of  tweedle  and  chipper,  what  a  quantity  of  nutter- 
ing,  and  soaring,  and  singing  would  have  been  wanting  to 
the  commencement  of  their  housekeeping  !  All  those  pretty 
little  conversations  with  the  sticks  and  straw,  all  that  brave 
work  in  tugging  at  a  bit  of  twine  and  thread,  which  finally 
are  carried  off  in  triumph  and  wrought  into  the  nest,  would 
be  a  loss  in  nature.  How  much  adventure  and  enterprise, 
how  many  little  heart-beats  of  joy  go  into  one  robin's  nest 
simply  because  Mother  Nature  makes  them  work  it  out  for 
themselves ! 

We  spent  a  cheerful  morning  merely  in  running  over  our 
house,  and  telling  each  other  what  we  could  do  with  it,  and 
congratulating  each  other  that  it  was  "such  a  bargain,"  for, 
look,  here  is  an  outlook  upon  trees;  and  here  is  a  little 
back  yard,  considerably  larger  than  a  good  sized  pocket- 
handkerchief,  where  Mrs.  Fergus  had  raised  mignonette, 
heliotropes,  and  roses  and  geraniums  enough  to  have  a  fresh 
morning  bouquet  of  them  daily  ;  and  an  ancient  grape-vine 
planted  by  some  old  Knickerbocker,  which  Jack  Fergus 
had  trained  in  a  sort  of  arbor  over  the  dining-room  window, 
and  which  at  this  present  moment  was  hanging  with  purple 
clusters  of  grapes.  We  ate  of  them,  and  felt  like  Adam 
and  Eve  in  Paradise.  What  was  it  to  us  that  this  little 


OUR  HOUSE.  451 

Eden  of  ours  was  in  an  unfashionable  quarter,  and  that,-as 
Aunt  Maria  would  say,  there  was  not  a  creature  living 
within  miles  of  us,  it  was  still  our  mystical  "garden  which 
the  Lord  God  had  planted  eastward  in  Eden."  The  pur- 
chase of  it,  itistrue,  had  absorbed  all  my  wife's  little  for- 
tune, and  laid  a  debt  upon  us— but  we  told  each  other  that 
it  was,  after  all,  our  cheapest  way  of  renting  a  footbold  in 
New  York.  "  For,  you  see,"  said  my  wife  instructively, 
"papa  says  it  is  a  safe  investment,  as  it  is  sure  to  rise  in 
value,  so  that  even  if  we  want  to  sell  it  we  can  get  more 
than  we  paid." 

"What  a  shrewd  little  trader  you  are  getting  to  be!"  I 
said,  admiring  this  profound  financial  view. 

"  Oh,  indeed  I  am  ;  and,  now,  Harry  dear,  don't  let's  go  to 
any  expense  about  furniture  till  I've  shown  you  what  I  in- 
tend to  do.  I  know  devices  for  giving  a  room  an  air  with  so 
little ;  for  example,  look  at  this  recess.  I  shall  fill  this  up 
with  a  divan  that  I  shall  get  up  for  nine  or  ten  dollars." 

"You  get  it  up!" 

"  Yes.,  I— with  Mary  to  help  me— you'll  see  in  time.  We'll 
have  all  the  comfort  that  could  be  got  out  of  a  sofa,  for 
which  people  pay  eighty  or  ninety  dollars,  and  the  eighty  or 
ninety  dollars  will  go  to  get  other  things,  you  see.  And 
then  we  must  have  a  stuffed  seat  running  round  this  bay- 
window.  I  can  get  that  up.  1  ve  seen  at  Stewart's  such  a 
lovely  piece  of  patch,  with  broad  crimson  stripes,  and  a 
sort  of  mauresque  figure  interposed.  I  think  we  had  better 
get  the  whole  of  it,  and  that  will  do  for  one  whole  room. 
Let's  see.  1  shall  make  lambrequins  for  the  windows,  and 
cover  the  window-seats,  and  then  we  shall  have  only  to  buy 
two  or  three  great  stuffed  chairs  and  cover  them  with  the 
same.  Oh,  you'll  see  what  I'll  do.  I  shall  make  this  house 
so  comfortable  and  charming  that  people  will  wonder  to  see 
it." 

"Well,  darling,  I  give  all  that  up  to  you,  that  is  your  do- 
minion, your  reign." 

"  To  be  sure,  you  have  all  your  work  up  at  the  office 


452  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

there,  and  your  articles  to  write,  and  besides,  dear,  with  all 
your  genius,  and  all  that,  you  really  don't  know  much  about 
this  sort  of  thing,  so  give  yourself  no  trouble,  I'll  attend  to 
it— it  is  my  ground,  you  know.  Now,  I  don't  mean  mother 
or  Aunt  Maria  shall  come  down  here  till  we  have  got  every 
thing  arranged.  Alice  is  going  to  come  and  stay  with  me 
and  help,  and  when  I  want  you  I'll  call  on  you,  for,  though 
I  am  not  a  writing  genius,  I  am  a  genius  in  these  matters 
as  you'll  see.:' 

"  You  are  a  veritable  household  fairy,"  said  I,  "and  this 
house,  henceforth,  lies  on  the  borders  of  the  fairy  land. 
Troops  of  gay  and  joyous  spirits  are  flocking  to  take  pos- 
session of  it,  and  their  little  hands  will  carry  forward  what 
you  begin." 


PICNICKING  IN  NEW  YORK.  453 


CHAPTER    XLIX. 


PICNICKING  IN  NEW  YORK. 

JUR  house  seemed  *o  far  to  be  ours  that  it  was  appa- 
rently regarded  by  the  firm  of  good  fellows 
as  much  their  affair  as  mine.  The  visits  of 
Jim  and  Bolton  to  our  quarters  were  daily,  and  some- 
times even  hourly.  They  counseled,  advised,  theorised, 
and  admired  my  wife's  generalship  in  an  artless  solidarity 
with  myself.  Jim  was  omnipresent.  Now  he  would  be 
seen  in  his  shirt-sleeves  nailing  down  a  carpet,  or  unpack- 
ing a  barrel,  and  again  making  good  the  time  lost  in  these 
operations  by  scribbling  his  articles  on  the  top  of  some 
packing-box,  dodging  in  and  out  at  all  hours  with  news  of 
discoveries  of  possible  bargains  that  he  had  hit  upou 
in  his  rambles. 

For  a  while  we  merely  bivouacked  in  the  house,  as  of  old 
the  pilgrims  in  a  caravansary,  or  as  a  picnic  party  might 
do,  out  under  a  tree.  The  house  itself  was  in  a  state  of 
growth  and  construction,  and,  meanwhile,  the  work  of  eat- 
ing and  drinking  was  performed  in  moments  snatched  in 
the  most  pastoral  freedom  and  simplicity.  I  must  confess 
that  there  was  a  joyous,  rollicking  freedom  about  these 
times  that  was  lost  in  the  precision  of  regular  housekeep- 
ers. When  we  all  gathered  about  Mary's  cooking -stove  in 
the  kitchen,  eating  roast  oysters  and  bread  and  butter,  with- 
out troubling  ourselves  about  table  equipage,  we  seemed  to 
come  closer  to  each  other  than  we  could  in  months  of  or- 
derly housekeeping. 
Our  cooking-  stove  was  Bolton's  especial  protege  and  pet. 


454  MY  WIFE  A'?D  1. 

He  had  studied  the  subject  of  stoves,  for  our  sakes,  with 
praiseworthy  perseverance,  and  after  philosophic  investiga- 
tion had  persuaded  us  to  buy  this  one,  and  of  course  had  a 
fatherly  interest  in  its  well-doing.  I  have  the  image  of  him 
now  as  he  sat,  seriously,  with  the  book  of  directions  in  his 
hand,  reading  and  explaining  to  us  all,  while  a  set  of  muf- 
fins were  going  through  the  "  experimentum  crwctV— the 
oven.  The  muffins  were  excellent  and  we  ate  them  hot  out 
of  the  oven  with  gladaess  and  singleness  of  heart,  and 
agreed  that  we  had  touched  the  absolute  in  the  matter  of 
cooking-stoves.  All  niy  wife's  plans  and  achievements,  all 
her  bargains  and  successes,  were  reported  and  admired  in 
full  conclave,  when  we  all  looked  in  at  night,  and  took  our 
snack  together  in  the  kitchen. 

One  of  my  wife's  enterprises  was  the  regeneration  of  the 
dining-room.  It  had  a  pretty  window  draped  pleasantly  by 
the  grape-vine,  but  it  had  a  dreadfully  common  wall-paper, 
a  paper  that  evidently  had  been  chosen  for  no  other  reason 
than  because  it  was  cheap.  It  had  moreover  a  wainscot  of 
dark  wood  running  round  the  side,  so  that  what  with  our 
low  ceiling,  the  portion  covered  by  this  offending  paper 
was  only  four  feet  and  a  Lalf  wide. 

I  confess,  in  the  multitude  of  things  on  hand  in  the  work 
of  reconstruction,  I  was  rather  disposed  to  put  up  with  the 
old  paper  as  the  best  under  the  circumstances. 

"  My  dear,"  said  I,  "  why  not  let  pretty  well  alone." 

"  My  darling  child !"  said  my  v\  ife, <;  it  is  impossible — that 
paper  is  a  horror." 

"It  certainly  isn't  pretty,  but  who  cares?''  said  I.  "I 
don't  see  so  very  much  the  matter  with  it,  and  you  are  un- 
dertaking so  much  that  you'll  be  worn  out." 

"It  will  wear  me  out  to  have  that  paper,  so  now,  Harry 
dear,  be  a  good  boy,  and  do  just  what  I  tell  you.  Go  to 
Berthold  &  Capstick's  and  bring  me  one  roll  of  plain  black 
paper,  and  six  or  eight  of  plain  crimson,  and  wait  then  to 
see  what  I'll  do." 

The  result  on  a  certain  day  after  was  that  I  found  niy 


PICNICKING  IN  NEW  YORK.  455 

dining-room  transformed  into  a  Pompeiian  saloon,  by  the 
busy  fingers  of  the  house  fairies. 

The  ground-work  was  crimson,  but  there  was  a  series  of 
bhick  panels,  in  each  of  which  was  one  of  those  floating 
Pompeiian  figures,  which  the  Italian  traveler  buys  for  a 
trifle  in  Naples, 

"  There  new,"  said  my  wife,  "  do  you  remember  my  port- 
folio «f  cheap  Neapolitan  prints  ?  Haven't  I  made  good  use 
of  them  f 

"  You  are  a  witch,"  said  I.  "  You  certainly  can't  paper 
walls." 

"  Can't  I !  haven't  I  as  many  fingers  as  your  mother  ?  and 
she  has  done  it  time  and  again  ;  and  this  is  such  a  crumb  of 
a  wall.  Alice  and  Jim  and  I  did  it  to-day,  and  have  had 
real  fun  over  it." 

"  Jim  ?"  said  I,  looking  amused. 

"  Jim !"  said  my  wife,  nodding  with  a  significant  laugh. 

"  Seems  to  me,"  said  I. 

"  So  it  seems  to  me,"  said  she.  After  a  pause  she  added, 
with  a  smile,  "  but  the  creature  is  both  entertaining  and 
useful.  We  have  had  the  greatest  kind  of  a  frolic  over  this 
wall." 

"  But,  really,"  said  I,  "this  case  of  Jim  and  Alice  is  get- 
ting serious." 

*'  Don't  say  a  word,"  said  my  wife,  laughing.  "  They  are 
in  the  F's ;  they  have  got  out  of  Flirtation  and  into  Friend- 
ship." 

'*  And  friendship  between  a  girl  like  Alice  and  a  young 
man,  on  his  part  soon  gets  to  mean ." 

"  Oh,  well,  let  it  get  to  mean  what  it  will,"  said  my  wife ; 
"they  are  havingnice  times  now,  and  the  best  of  it  is,  nobody 
sees  anything  but  you  and  I.  Nobody  bothers  Alice,  or  asks 
her  if  she  is  engaged,  and  she  is  careful  to  inform  me  that 
she  regards  Jim  quite  as  a  brother.  Yoii  see  that  is  one  ad- 
vantage of  our  living  where  nobody  knows  us  —we  can  all 
do  just  as  we  like.  This  little  house  is  Robiuson  Crusoe's 
island— in  the  middle  of  New  York.  But  now,  Harry,  there 


45 G  MY  WIFE  AND  7. 

is  one  thing  you  must  do  toward  this  room.  There  must 
be  a  little  gilt  molding  to  finish  off  the  top  and  sides.  You 
just  go  to  Berthold  &  Capstick's  and  get  it.  See,  here  are 
the  figures,"  she  said,  showing  her  memorandum-book. 
We  si  tall  want  jast  that  much." 

"But,  can  we  put  it  up  JP 

"No,  but  you  just  speak  to  little  Tim  Brady,  who  is  a 
clerk  there— Tim  used  to  be  a  boy  in  father's  office— he  will 
like  nothing  better  than  to  come  and  put  it  up  for  us,  and 
then  we  shall  be  fine  as  a  new  fiddle." 

And  so,  while  I  was  driving  under  a  great  pressure  of 
business  at  the  office  daily,  niy  home  was  growing  leaf  by 
leaf,  and  unfolding  flower  by  flower,  under  the  creative 
hands  of  my  honic-queen  and  sovereign  lady. 

Time  would  fail  me  to  relate  the  enterprises  conceived, 
carried  oat,  and  prosperously  finished  under  her  hands.  In- 
deed I  came  to  have  such  a  reverential  belief  in  her  power 
that  had  she  announced  that  she  is  tended  to  take  my  house 
up  bodily  and  set  it  down  in  Japan,  in  the  true  '  Arabian 
Nights'  style,  1  should  not  in  the  least  have  doubted  her 
ability  to  do  it.  The  house  was  as  much  an  expression  of 
my  wife's  personality,  a  thing  wroughj;  out  of  her  being,  as 
any  picture  painted  by  an  artist. 

Many  homes  have  no  personality.  They  are  made  by  the 
upholsterers ;  the  things  in  them  express  the  tastes  of  David 
and  Saul,  or  Berthold  &  Capstick,  or  whoever  else  of  arti- 
ficers undertake  the  getting  up  of  houses.  But  our  house 
formed  itself  around  my  wife  like  the  pearly  shell  around 
the  nautilus.  My  home  was  Eva,— she  the  scheming,  the 
busy,  the  creative,  was  the  life,  soul,  and  spirit  of  all  that 
was  there. 

Is  not  this  a  species  of  high  art,  by  which  a  house,  in  itself 
cold  and  barren,  becomes  in  every  part  warm  and  inviting, 
glowing  with  suggestion,  alive  with  human  tastes  and  per- 
sonalities? Wall-paper,  paint,  furniture,  pictures,  in  the 
hands  of  the  home  artist,  are  like  the  tubes  of  paint  out  of 
which  arises,  as  by  inspiration,  a  picture.  It  is  the  woman 


PICNICKING  IN  NEW  YORK.  457 

who  combines  them  into  the  wonderful  creation  which  we 
call  a  home. 

When  I  came  home  from  my  office  night,  after  night,  and 
was  led  in  triumph  by  Eva  to  view  the  result  of  her  achieve- 
ments, I  confess  I  began  to  remember  with  approbation 
the  old  Greek  mythology,  and  no  longer  to  wonder  that 
divine  honors  had  been  paid  to  household  goddesses. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  she  had  a  portion  of  the  talent  of 
creating  out  of  nothing.  Our  house  had  literally  nothing  in 
it  of  the  stereotyped  sets  of  articles  expected  as  a  ma.tter  of 
course  in  good  families,  and  yet  it  looked  cosy,  comfortable, 
inviting,  and  with  everywhere  a  suggestion  of  ideal  tastes, 
and  an  eye  to  beauty.  There  were  chambers  which  seemed 
to  be  built  out  of  drapery  and  muslins,  every  detail  of 
which,  when  explained,  was  a  marvel  of  results  at  small 
expense.  My  wife  had  an  aptitude  for  .bargains,  and  when 
a  certain  article  was  wanted,  supplied  it  from  some  second- 
hand store  with  such  an  admirable  adaptation  to  the  place 
that  it  was  difficult  to  persuade  ourselves  after  a  few  days 
that  it  had  not  always  been  exactly  there,  where  now  it  was 
so  perfectly  adapted  to  be. 

In  fact,  her  excursions  into  the  great  sea  of  New  York 
and  the  spoils  she  brought  thence  to  enrich  our  bower  re- 
minded me  of  the  process  by  which  Robinson  Crusoe  fur- 
nished his  island  home  by  repeated  visits  to  the  old  ship 
which  was  going  to  wreck  on  the  shore.  From  the  wreck 
of  other  homes  came  floating  to  ours  household  belongings, 
which  we  landed  reverently  and  baptized  into  the  fellow- 
ship of  our  own. 


45S  MY  WIFE  AND  1. 


CHAPTER    L. 

NEIGHBOKS. 

JO  you  know,  Harry,"  said  my  wife  to  ine,  one 
evening  when  1  came  home  to  dinner,  "  I  have 
made  a  discovery  ?" 

Now,  the  truth  was,  that  my  wife  was  one  of  those  lively, 
busy,  active,  enterprising  little  women,  who  are  always 
making  incident  for  themselves  and  their  friends  ;  and  it 
was  a  regular  part  of  my  anticipation,  as  I  plodded  home 
from  my  office,  tired  and  work-worn,  to  conjecture  what 
new  thing  Eva  would  find  to  tell  me  that  night.  What  had 
she  done,  or  altered,  or  made  up,  or  arranged,  as  she  always 
met  me  full  of  her  subject  f 

"Well,"  said  I,  "  what  is  this  great  discovery?" 

"My  dear,  I'll  tell  you.  One  of  those  d umb  houses  in 
our  neighborhood  has  suddenly  become  alive  to  me.  I've 
made  an  acquaintance." 

Now,  I  knew  that  my  wife  was  just  that  social,  convers- 
ing, conversable  creature  that,  had  she  been  in  Eobinson 
Crusoe's  island,  would  have  struck  up  confidential  rela- 
tions with  the  monkeys  and  paroquets,  rather  than  not 
have  somebody  to  talk  to.  Therefore,  I  was  not  in  the 
least  surprised,  but  quite  amused,  to  find  that  she  had 
begun  neighboring  in  our  vicinity. 

"  You  don't  tell  me,"  said  1,  "  that  you  have  begun  to  cul- 
tivate acquaintances  on  this  street,  so  far  from  the  centers 
of  fashion 

"  Well,  I  have,  and  found  quite  a  treasure,  in  at  the 
very  next  door." 


NEIGHBORS.  459 

"And  pray  now,  for  curiosity's  sake,  bow  did  you 
manage  it?" 

'*  Well,  to  tell  the  truth,  Harry,  I'm  the  worst  person  iii 
the  world  for  keeping  up  what's  called  select  society  ;  and 
I  never  could  bear  the  feeling  of  not  knowing  anything 
about  anybody  that  lives  next  to  me.  Why,  suppose  we 
should  be  sick  in  the  night,  or  anything  happen,  and  we 
not  have  a  creature  to  speak  to  !  It  seems  dreary  to  think 
of  it.  So  I  was  curious  to  know  who  lived  next  door  ;  and 
I  looked  down  from  our  chamber- win  do  win  to  the  next 
back-yard,  and  saw  that  whoever  it  was  had  a  right  cun- 
ning little  garden,  with  nasturtiums  and  geraniums,  and 
chrysanthemums,  and  all  sorts  of  pretty  things.  Well,  this 
morning  I  saw  the  sweetest  little  dove  of  a  Quaker  woman, 
in  a  gray  drees,  with  a  pressed  crape  cap,  moving  about  as 
quiet  as  a  chip  sparrow  among  the  flowers.  And  I  took 
quite  a  fancy  to  her,  and  began  to  think  how  I  fhould 
make  her  acquaintance." 

"  If  that  isn't  just  like  you !"  said  I.  "  Well,  did  you  run 
in  and  fall  on  her  neck? 

"Not  exactly.  But,  you  see,  we  had  all  our  windows 
open  to  air  the  rooms,  and  my  very  best  pocket  handker- 
chief lay  on  the  bureau.  And  the  wind  took  it  Rp,  and 
whirled  it  about,  and  finally  carried  it  down  into  that  back- 
yard ;  and  it  lit  on  her  geranium  bush.  '  There,  now,'  said 
I  to  Alice, '  there's  a  providential  opening.  I'm  just  going 
to  run  right  down  and  inquire  about  my  pocket  handker- 
chief.' Which  I  did  :  I  jtist  stepped  off  from  our  stoop  on 
to  her  door-step,  and  rang  the  bell.  Meanwhile,  I  saw,  on 
a  nice,  shining  door  plate,  that  the  name  was  Baxter. 
Well,  who  should  open  the  door  but  the  brown  dove  in 
person,  looking  just  as  pretty  as  a  pink  in  her  cap  and  drab 
gown.  I  declare,  Harry,  I  told  Alice  I'd  a  great  mind  to 
adopt  the  Quaker  costume  right  away.  It's  a  great  deal 
more  becoming  than  all  our  finery." 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  said  I,  "  that  introduces  a  large  sub- 
ject ;  and  I  want  to  hear  what  came  next." 


460  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

"  Oh,  well,  I  spoke  up,  and  said, '  Dear  Mrs.  Baxter,  pray 
excuse  me ;  but  I've  been  so  very  careless  as  to  lose  my 
handkerchief  down  in  your  back-yard.'  You  ought  to 
have  seen  the  pretty  pink  color  rise  in  her  cheeks ;  and  she 
said  in  such  a  cunning  way, '  I'll  get  it  for  thee  !' 

" '  Oh,  dear,  no,'  said  I,  '  don't  trouble  yourself.  Please 
let  me  go  out  into  your  pretty  little  garden  there.' " 

"  Well,  the  upshot  was,  we  went  into  the  garden  and  had 
a  long  chat  about  the  flowers.  And  she  picked  me  quite  a 
bouquet  of  geraniums.  And  then  I  told  her  all  about  our 
little  garden,  and  how  I  wanted  to  make  things  grow  in  it, 
and  didn't  know  how;  and  asked  her  if  she  wouldn't  teach 
me.  Well,  then,  she  took  me  into  the  nicest  little  drab 
nest  of  a  parlor  that  ever  you  saw.  The  carpet  was  drab, 
and  the  curtains  were  drab,  and  the  sofas  and  chairs  were 
all  covered  with  drab  ;  but  the  windows  were  perfectly 
blazing  with  flowers.  She  had  most  gorgeous  nasturtium 
vines  trained  all  around  the  windows,  and  scarlet  gera- 
niums that  would  really  make  your  eyes  wiiak  to  look  at 
them.  I  could't  help  laughing  a  little  to  myself,  that  they 
make  it  a  part  of  their  religion  not  to  have  any  color,  and 
then  fall  back  upon  all  these  high-colored  operations  of 
the  Lord  by  way  of  brightening  up  their  houses.  However, 
I  got  a  great  deal  of  instruction  out  of  her,  and  she's  grring 
to  come  in  and  show  me  how  to  arrange  my  ferns  and  other 
things  I  gathered  in  the  country,  in  a  Ward's  case ;  and 
she's  going  to  show  me,  too,  how  to  plant  an  ivy,  so  as  to 
have  it  grow  all  around  this  bay-window.  The  inside  of 
hers  is  a  perfect  bower." 

"  I  perceive,"  said  I, "  the  result  of  all  was  that  you  swore 
eternal  friendship  on  the  spot,  just  like  the  Eva  that 
you  are." 

"  Precisely." 

"And  you  didn't  have  the  fear  of  your  gentlity  before 
your  eyes'?" 

"Not  a  bit.     I  always  have  detested  gentility." 

"You  don't  even  know  the  business  of  her  husband." 


NEIGHBORS.  461 

"  But  I  do,  though.  He's  a  watchmaker,  and  worss  for 
Tiffhry  &  Co.  I  know,  because  she  showed  me  a  curious 
little  clock  of  his  construction;  and  these  things  came  out 
in  a  parenthesis,  you  see." 

"  I  sec  the  hopeless  degradation  which  this  will  imply  in 
Aunt  Maria's  eyes,"  said  I. 

"  A  fig  for  Aunt  Maria,  and  a  fig  for  the  world !  I'm 
married  now,  and  can  do  sis  I've  a  mind  to.  Besides,  you 
know  Quakers  are  not  world's  people.  They  have  come 
out  from  it,  and  don't  belong  to  it.  There's  something 
really  refreshing  about  this  dear  little  body,  with  her 
theeV  and  her  'thou's'  and  her  nice  little  ways.  And 
they 're  young  married  people,  just  like  us.  She's  been  in 
this  house  only  a  year.  But,  Harry,  she  knows  everybody 
on  the  street, — not  in  a  worldly  way,  but  in  the  way  of  her 
sect.  She's  made  a  visitation  of  Christian  love  to  every 
one  of  them.  Now,  isn't  that  pretty  1  She's  been  to  see 
what,  she  could  do  for  them,  and  to  offer  friendship  and 
kind  offices.  Isn't  that  sort  of  Arcadian,  now  *?" 

"  Well,  and  what  does  she  tell  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  there  are  a  great  many  interesting  people  on  this 
street.  I  can't  tell  you  all  about  it  now,  but  some  that 
I  think  we  must  try  to  get  acquainted  with.  In  the  third 
story  of  that  house  opposite  to  us  is  a  poor  French  gentle- 
man, who  came  to  New  York  a  political  refugee,  hoping  to 
give  lessons  ;  but  has  no  faculty  for  getting  along,  and  his 
wife,  a  delicate  little  woman  with  a  baby,  and  they're 
very,  very  poor.  I'm  going  with  her  to  visit  them  some 
time  this  week.  It  seems  this  dear  little,  Ruth  was  with 
her  when  her  baby  was  born,— this  dear  little  Ruth !  It 
struck  me  so  curiously  to  see  how  interesting  she  thinks 
everybody  on  this  street  is." 

"Simply,," said  I, "because  she  looks  at  them  from  the 
Christian  stand-point,  Well,  dear,  I  can't  but  think  your 
new  acquaintance  is  an  acquisition." 

"And  only  think,  Harry,  this  nice  little  person  is  one  of 
the  people  that  Aunt  Maria  calls  nobody;  not  rich,  not 
fashionable,  not  of  the  world,  in  short;  but  just  as  sweefr 


462  MY  WIFE  AND  T. 

and  lovely  and  refined  as  she  can  be.  I  think  those  plain, 
sincere  manners  are  so  charming.  It  makes  you  feel  so 
very  near  to  people  to  have  them  call  yon  by  your  Christian 
name  right  away.  She  calls  me  Eva  and  I  call  her  Ruth  ; 
and  I  feel  somehow  as  if  T  must  always  have  known  her." 

"  I  want  to  see  her,"  said  I. 

"  You  must.  It'll  amuse  you  to  have  her  look  at  you  with 
her  grave,  quiet  eyes,  and  call  you  Harry  Henderson.  What 
an  effect  it  has  to  hear  one's  simple,  common  name,  without 
fuss  or  title !" 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "  I  remember  how  long  I  called  you  Eva  in 
my  heart,  while  I  was  addressing  you  at  arm's  length  as 
Miss  Van  Arsdel." 

"It  was  in  the  Park,  Harry,  that  we  lost  the  Mr.  and  Miss, 
never  to  find  them  again." 

"I've  often  thought  it  strange,"  said  I,  "  how  these  un- 
worldly modes  of  speaking  among  the  Quakers  seem  to 
have  with  them  a  certain  dignity.  It  would  be  an  offense, 
a  piece  of  vulgar  forwardness,  in  most  people  to  address 
you  by  your  Christian  name.  But,  with  them  it  seems  to 
be  an  attempt  at  realizing  a  certain  ideal  of  Christian  sim- 
plicity and  sincerity,  which  one  almost  loses  sight  of  in  the 
conventional  course  of  life." 

"  I  was  very  much  amused,"  said  my  wife, "  at  her  telling 
me  of  one  of  her  visits  of  Christian  love  to  a  Jew  family, 
living  on  this  street.  And  really,  Harry,  she  has  learned 
an  amount  of  good  about  the  Jews,  from  cultivating  an 
intimacy  with  this  family,  that  is  <iuite  astonishing.  I'd 
no  idea  how  good  the  Jews  were." 

"Well,  my  little  High-Church  darling,"  said  I,  "you're 
in  a  fair  way  to  become  ultra-liberal,  and  to  find  that  what 
you  call  the  Church  doesn't  come  anywhere  near  represent- 
ing the  whole  multitude  of  the  elect  in  this  world.  I  com- 
fort myself  with  thinking,  all  the  time,  how  much  more  good 
there  is  in  the  world  and  in  human  nature  than  appears  on 
the  surface." 

"  And,  now,  Harry,  that  you  and  I  have  this  home  of  our 
own,  we  can  do  some  of  those  things  with  it  that  our  friends 


NEIGHBORS-  463 

next  door  seem  to  be  doing.  I  thought  we  might  stir  about 
and  see  if  we  couldn't  get  up  a  class  for  this  poor  French- 
man, and  I'm  going  to  call  on  his  wife.  In  fact,  Harry,  I've 
been  thinking  that  it  must  be  one's  own  fault  if  one  has  no 
friends  in  one's  neighborhood.  I  can't  believe  in  living  on 
a  street,  and  never  knowing  or  caring  whether  your  next- 
door  neighbor  is  sick  or  dead,  simply  because  you  belong 
to  a  circle  up  at  the  other  end  of  the  city." 

"  Well,  dear,  you  know  that  I  am  a  democrat  by  nature. 
But  I  am  delighted  to  have  you  make  these  discoveries  for 
yourself.  It  was  bad  enough,  in  the  view  of  your  friends, 
presume,  for  me  to  have  come  between  you  and  a  fashion- 
able establishment,  and  a  palace  on  the  Park,  without  being 
guilty  of  introducing  you  into  such  very  mixed  society  as 
the  course  that  you're  falling  into  seems  to  promise.  But 
wherever  you  go  I'll  follow." 


464  MY  WIFE  AND  1. 


CHAPTER    LI. 

MY  WIFE    PROJECTS    HOSPITALITIES. 

|Y  dear,"  said  my  wife  to  me  at  breakfast,  "  our 
house  is  about  done.  To  be  sure  there  are 
ever  so  many  little  niceties  that  I  haven't  got 
at  yet,  but  it's  pretty  enough  now.  So  that  I'm  not  at  all 
ashamed  to  show  it  to  mamma  or  Aunt  Maria,  or  any  of 
them." 

"  Do  you  think,"  said  I,  "  that  last-named  respectable  in- 
dividual could  possibly  think  of  countenancing  us,  when 
we  have  only  an  ingrain  carpet  on  our  parlor  and  nothing 
but  mattings  on  the  chambers,  and  live  down  here  where 
nobody  lives  ?" 

"  Well,  poor  soul !"  said  Eva,  "  she'll  have  to  accept  it  as 
one  of  the  trials  of  life,  and  have  recourse  to  the  consola- 
tions of  religion.  Then,  after  all,  Harry,  I  really  am  proud 
of  our  parlor.  Of  course,  we've  had  the  good  luck  to  have 
a  good  many  handsome  ornaments  given  to  us ;  so  that, 
though  we  haven't  the  regulation  things  that  people  gene- 
rally get,  it  does  look  very  bright  and  pretty." 

"  It's  perfectly  lovely,"  said  I.  "  Our  house  to  me  is  a 
perfect  dream  of  loveliness.  I  think  of  it  all  day  from 
time  to  time  when  I'm  at  work  in  my  office,  and  am  always 
wanting  to  come  home  and  see  it  again,  and  have  a  little 
curiosity  to  know  what  new  thing  you've  accomplished. 
So  far,  your  career  has  been  a  daily  succession  of  triumphs, 
and  the  best  of  it  is  th-it  it's  all  so  much  like  you." 

"  So,"  said  she,  "  that  I  can't  be  jealous  at  your  loving  the 
house  so  much.  I  suppose  you  think  it  as  much  a  part  of 
me  as  the  shell  on  a  turtle's  back.  Well,  now,  before 
we  invite  mother  ard  Aunt  Maria,  and  all  the  folks  down 


MY  WIFE  PROJECTS  HOSPITALITIES.          465 

here,  I  propose  that  we  have  just  a  nice  little  housewarm- 
ing,  with  our  own  little  private  particular  set,  who  know 
how  to  appreciate  us." 

"  Agreed  t"  said  I ;  "  Bolton,  and  Jim,  and  Alice,  and  you 
and  I  will  have  a  commemoration-dinner  together.  Our 
fellows,  you  see,  seem  to  feel  as  much  interested  in  thi.s 
house  as  if  it  were  their  own." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  she.  "  Isn't  it  really  amusing  to  see  the 
grand  fatherly  concern  that  Bolton  has  for  our  cooking- 
stove  ?" 

"Oh!  Bolton  has  staked  his  character  on  that  stove,"  I 
said.  •'  It's  success  is  quite  a  personal  matter  now." 

"Well,  it  does  bake  admirably,"  said  my  wife,  "and  I 
think  our  dinner  will  be  a  perfect  success,  so  far  as  that  is 
concerned.  And,  do  you  know,  I'm  going  to  introduce  that 
new  way  of  doing  up  cold  chicken  which  IVe  invented." 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "  we  shall  christen  it  Chicken  a  la  Eva." 

"  And  I've  been  talking  with  our  Mary  about  it,  and  she's 
quite  in  the  spirit  of  the  affair.  You  see,  like  all  Irish 
women,  Mary  perfectly  worships  the  boys,  and  thinks  there 
never  was  anybody  like  Mr.  Bolton,  and  Mr.  Jim ;  and  of 
course  it's  quite  a  labor  of  love  with  her.  Then  I've  been 
giving  her  little  cub  there  a  series  of  lessons  to  enable  her 
to  wait  on  table ;  and  she  is  all  exercised  with  the  pros- 
pect." 

"Why,"  said  I,  "the  little  flibberty-gibbet  is  hardly  as 
high  as  the  table." 

"  Oh,  never  say  that  before  her.  She  feels  very  high 
indeed  in  the  world,  and  is  impressed  with  the  awful 
gravity  and  responsibility  of  being  eight  years  old.  I  have 
made  her  a  white  apron  with  pockets,  in  which  her  soul 
delights ;  and  her  mother  has  starched  and  ironed  it  till  it 
shines  with  whiteness.  And  she  is  learning  to  brush  the 
table-cloth,  and  change  plates  in  the  most  charming  way, 
and  with  a  gravity  that  is  quite  overcoming." 

"  Capital !"  said  I.    "And  when  shall  it  bef 

"  To-morrow  night." 


466  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

"  Agreed !  I'll  tell  the  fellows  this  is  to  be  a  regular  blow- 
out, and  we  must  do  our  very  prettiest,  which  is  very  pretty 
indeed,"  said  I,  "thanks  to  the  contributions  of  our  numer- 
ous friends.  For  my  part,  I  think  the  fashion  of  wedding- 
presents  has  proved  a  lucky  thing  for  us." 

"  Even  if  we  have  six  pie-knives,  and  no  pie  to  eat  with 
them/'  said  my  wife,  "as  may  happen  in  our  establishment 
pretty  often." 

"  Still,"  said  I,  "among  them  all  there  are  a  sufficiency  of 
articles  that  give  quite  another  aspect  to  our  prudent  little 
house  from  what  it  would  wear  if  we  were  obliged  to  buy 
everything  ourselves." 

"  Yes,"  said  my  wife,  '*  and  one  such  present  as  that  set  of 
bronzes  on  the  mantel-piece  gives  an  air  to  a  whole  room. 
A  mantelpiece  is  like  a  lady's  bonnet.  It's  the  headpiece  of 
a  room,  and  if  that  be  pleasing  the  rest  is  a  good  deal  taken 
for  granted.  Then,  you  see,  our  parlor  is  all  of  a  warm 
color, — crimson  carpet,  crimson  curtains, — everything  warm 
and  glowing.  And  so  long  as  you  have  the  color  it  isn't  a 
bit  of  matter  whether  your  carpet  cost  three  dollars  and  a 
half  a  yard  or  eighty-seven  cents,  and  whether  your  cur- 
tains are  damask  or  Turkey  red.  Color  is  color,  and  will 
produce  its  effects,  no  matter  in  what  material." 

"  And  we  men,"  said  I,  "never  know  what  the  material  is, 
if  only  the  effect  is  pleasant.  I  always  look  at  a  room  as  a 
painting.  It  never  occurs  to  me  whether  the  articles  in  it 
are  cheap  or  dear,  so  that  only  the  general  effect  is  warm, 
and  social,  and  agreeable.  And  that  is  just  what  you  have 
made  these  rooms.  I  think  the  general  effect  of  the  rooms, 
either  by  daylight,  or  lamp-light,  or  firelight,  would  be  to 
make  a  person  like  to  stay  in  them,  and  when  he  had  left 
them  want  to  come  back." 

"Yes,"  said  my  wife,  "I  flatter  myself  our  rooms  have 
the  air  of  belonging  to  people  that  are  having  nice  times, 
and  enjoying  themselves,  as  we  are.  And,  for  my  own 
part,  I  feel  like  sitting  right  down  in  them.  All  that  round 
of  party-going,  and  calling,  and  visiting,  tbat  I  used  to 


MY  WIFE  PROJECTS  HOSPITALITIES.         467 

have  to  keep  up,  seems  to  me  really  wearisome.  I  want 
you  to  understand,  Harry,  that  it's  not  the  slightest  sacri- 
fice in  the  world  for  me  to  give  it  up.  Fin  just  happy  to 
be  out  of  it." 

"You  see,"  said  I,  "we  can  sit  down  here  and  make  our 
own  world.  Those  that  we  really  like  very  much  and  who 
like  us  very  much  will  come  to  us.  My  ideal  of  good 
society  is  of  a  few  congenial  persons  who  can  know  each 
other  very  thoroughly,  so  as  to  feel  perfectly  acquainted 
and  at  home  with  one  another.  That  was  the  secret  of  those 
reunions  that  went  on  so  many  years  around  Madame  Re- 
camier.  It  made  no  difference  whether  she  lived  in  a  pal- 
ace, or  a  little  obscure  street;  her  friends  were  real  friends, 
and  followed  her  everywhere.  The  French  have  made  a 
science  of  the  cultivation  of  friendship,  which  is  worth 
study." 

Thus  my  wife  and  I  chatted,  and  felicitated  each  other, 
in  those  first  happy  home  making  days.  There  was  never 
any  end  to  our  subjects  of  mutual  conversation.  Every 
little  change  in  our  arrangements  was  fruitful  in  conversa- 
tion. We  hung  our  pictures  here  at  first,  and  liked  them 
well,  but  our  maturer  second-thoughts  received  bright 
inspirations  to  take  them  down  and  hang  them  there ;  and 
then  we  liked  them  better.  I  must  say,  by  the  by,  that  I 
had  committed  one  of  those  extravagances  which  lovers  do 
commit  when  they  shut  their  eyes  and  go  it  blind.  I  had 
bought  back  the  pictures  of  Eva's  little  boudoir  from  Gou- 
piFs.  The  fact  was  that  there  was  a  considerable  sympa- 
thy felt  for  Mr.  Van  Arsdel,  arid  one  of  the  members  of  the 
concern  was  a  nice  fellow,  with  whom  I  had  some  pleasant 
personal  acquaintance.  So  that  the  redemption  of  the  pic- 
tures was  placed  at  a  figure  which  made  it  possible  for  me 
to  accomplish  it.  And  the  pictures  themselves  were  an  un- 
told store  of  blessedness  to  us.  I  believe  we  took  them  all 
down  and  hung  them  over  four  tines,  on  four  successive 
days,  before  we  were  satisfied  that  we  had  come  to  ultimate 
perfection. 


MY  WIFE  AND  I. 


CHAPTER    LII. 

PREPARATIONS   FOR   OUR  DINNER  PARTY. 

fJARRY,"  said  my  wife,  the  morning  of  the  day 
of  our  projected  house-warniing,  "there's  one 
thing  you  must  get  me." 

"Well,  Princess?" 

"Well,  you  know  you  and  I  don't  care  for  wine  and 
don't  need  it,  and  can't  afford  it,  but  I  have  such  a  pretty 
set  of  glasses  and  decanters,  and  you  must  get  me  a  couple 
of  bottles  just  to  set  off  our  table  for  celebration." 

Immediately  I  thought  of  Bolton's  letter,  of  what  he  had 
told  me  of  the  effect  of  wine  upon  his  senses  at  Hester- 
manns  dinner  table.  I  knew  it  must  not  be  at  ours,  but 
how  to  explain  to  my  wife  without  compromising  him  !  At 
a  glance  I  saw  that  all  through  the  future  my  intimacy 
with  Bolton  must  be  guided  and  colored  by  what  I  knew 
of  his  history,  his  peculiar  struggles  and  temptations, 
and  that  not  merely  now,  but  on  many  future  occasions  I 
should  need  a  full  understanding  with  my  wife  to  act  as  I 
should  be  obliged  to  act.  I  reflected  that  Eva  and  I  had 
ceased  to  be  two  and  had  become  one,  that  I  owed  her  an  un- 
limited confidence  in  those  respects  where  my  actions  must 
involve  her  comfort,  or  wishes,  or  cooperation. 

"  Eva,  darling,"  I  said,  "  you  remember  I  told  you  there 
was  a  mystery  about  the  separation  of  Bolton  and  Caro- 
line." 

"Yes,  of  course,"  said  she,  wondering,  "but  what  has 
this  to  do  with  this  wine  question  ?" 

"  A  great  deal,"  I  said,  and  going  to  my  desk  I  took  out 
Bolton's  letter  and  put  It  into  her  hand.  "Read  that  my 
dear  and  $hen  tell  me  what  to  do."  She  took  it  and  read 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  OUR  DINNER  PARTY.   469 

with  something  of  the  eagerness  of  feminine  curiosity 
while  I  left  the  room  for  a  few  moments.  In  a  little  while 
she  came  after  mo  and  laid  her  hand  on  my  arm. 

"  Harry,  dear,"  she  said  "  I'll  stand  by  you  in  this  thing. 
His  secret  shall  be  sacred  with  me,  and  I  will  make  a  safe 
harbor  for  him  where  he  may  have  a  home  without  danger. 
I  want  our  house  to  seem  like  a  home  for  him." 

"  You  are  an  angel,  Eva." 

"  Well,  Harry,  I  must  say  I  always  have  had  conscience 
about  offering  wine  to  some  young  men  that  I  knew  ought 
to  keep  clear  of  it,  but  it  never  occurred* to  me  in  regard  to 
sucli  a  grave  noble  man  as  Boltou." 

We  never  know  who  may  be  in  this  danger.  It  is  a 
diseased  action  of  the  nervous  system— often  inherited — 
a  thing  very  little  understood,  like  the  tendency  to  in- 
sanity or  epilepsy.  But  while  we  know  such  things  are, 
we  cannot  be  too  careful. 

"I  should  never  have  forgiven  myself,  Harry,  if  I  had 
done  it." 

"The  result  would  have  been  that  Bolton  would  never 
have  dined  with  us  again,  he  is  resolute  to  keep  entirely 
out  of  all  society  where  this  temptation  meets  him." 

"Well,  we  don't  want  it,  don't  need  it,  and  won't  have  it. 
Mary  makes  magnificent  coffee  and  that's  even  so  much 
better.  So  that  matter  is  settled,  Harry,  and  I'm  ever  and 
ever  &o  glad  you  told  me.  I  do  admire  him  so  much!  There 
is  something  really  sad  and  noble  in  his  struggle." 

"Many  a  man  with  that  temptation  who  fails  often 
exercises  more  self-denial,  and  self-restraint,  than  most 
Christians,"  said  I. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  deny  myself  much.  I  generally  want 
to  do  just  what  I  do,"  said  Eva. 

"  You  always  want  to  do  all  that  is  good  and  generous," 
said  I. 

"  I  think,  on  the  whole,"  said  Eva,  reflectively,  "  my  self- 
denial  is  in  not  doing  what  other  people  want  me  to.  I'm 
like  Mrs.  Quickly.  I  want  to  please  everybody.  I  wanted 
to  please  mamma  and  Aunt  Maria." 


470  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

"  And  came  very  near  marrying  a  man  you  couldn't  love 
purely  to  oblige  people." 

"  If  you  hadn't  rescued  me,"  she  said,  laughing.  "  But 
now,  Harry,  really  I  want  some  little  extravagance  about 
our  dinner.  So  if  we  don't  have  wine,  buy  the  nicest  of 
grapes  and  pears,  and  I  will  arrange  a  pretty  fruit  piece 
for  the  center  of  the  table." 

"  My  love,  I  will  get  you  all  the  grapes  and  pears  you 
want." 

"  And.  my  little  Bath  has  sent  me  in  this  lovely  tumbler 
of  apple  jelly.  You  see  I  held  sweet  council  with  her 
yesterday  on  the  subject  of  jelly-making,  where  I  am  only 
a  novice,  and  hers  is  splendid  ;  literally  now,  splendid,  for 
see  how  the  light  shines  through  it !  And  do  you  think  the 
generous  little  Puss  actually  sent  me  in  half  a  dozen  tumb- 
lers." 

"  What  a  perfect  saint !"  said  I. 

"  And  I  am  to  have  all  the  flowers  in  her  garden.  She 
says  the  frost  will  take  them  in  a  day  or  two  if  we  don't. 
Harry,  next  summer  we  must  take  lessons  of  her  about 
our  little  back  yard.  I  never  saw  so  much  made  of  so 
little  ground." 

"She'll  be  only  too  delightful,"  said  I. 

"  Well,  now,  mind  you  are  home  at  five.  I  want  you  to 
look  the  house  over  before  your  friends  come,  and  see  if  I 
have  got  everything  as  pretty  as  it  can  be." 

"  Are  they  to  "process"  through  the  house  and  see  your 
blue  room,  and  your  pink  room,  and  your  guest  chamber, 
and  all  <P 

"  Yes.  I  want  them  to  see  all  through  how  pretty  the 
rooms  are,  and  then  sometimes,  perhaps,  we  shall  tempt 
them  to  stay  all  night." 

"And  sleep  in  the  chamber  that  is  called  Peace,"  said  I, 
"  after  the  fashion  of  Pilgrim's  Progress." 

"  Come,  Harry,  begone.  I  want  you  to  go,  so  as  to  be 
sure  and  come  back  early." 


THE  HOUSE-WARMING.  471 


CHAPTER    LIII. 

THE  HOUSE-WARMING. 

j]EAR  reader,  fancy  now  a  low-studded  room,  with 
crimson  curtains  and  carpet,  a  deep  recess  filled 
by  a  crimson  divan  with  pillows,  the  lower  part  of 
the  room  taken  up  by  a  row  of  book-shelves,  three  feet  high, 
which  ran  all  round  the  room  and  accommodated  my  library. 
The  top  of  this  formed  a  convenient  shelf,  on  which  all  our 
pretty  little  wedding  presents— statuettes,  bronzes,  and  ar- 
ticles of  vertu— were  arranged.  A  fire-place,  surrounded  by 
an  old-fashioned  border  of  Dutch  tiles,  with  a  pair  of  grand- 
motherly brass  andirons,  rubbed  and  polished  to  an  extreme 
of  brightness,  exhibits  a  wood  fire,  all  laid  in  order  to  be 
lighted  at  the  touch  of  the  match.  My  wife  has  dressed  the 
house  with  flowers,  which  our  pretty  little  neighbor  has 
almost  stripped  her  garden  to  contribute.  There  are  vases  of 
fire-colored  nasturtiums  and  many-hued  chrysanthemums^ 
the  arrangement  of  which  has  cost  the  little  artist  an  after- 
noon's study,  but  which  I  pronounce  to  be  perfect.  I  have 
come  home  from  my  office  an  hour  earlier  to  see  if  she  has 
any  commands. 

"Here,  Harry,"  she  says,  with  a  flushed  face, "I  believe 
everything  now  is  about  as  perfect  as  it  can  be.  Now  come 
and  stand  at  this  door,  and  see  how  you  think  it  would  strike 
anybody,  when  they  first  came  in.  You  see  I've  heaped  up 
those  bronze  vases  on  the  mantel  with  nothing  but  nastur- 
tiums ;  and  it  has  such  a  suprising  effect  in  that  dark  bronze! 
Then  I've  arranged  those  white  chrysanthemums  right 
against  these  crimson  curtains.  And  now  come  out  in  the 
dining-room,  and  see  how  I've  set  the  dinner-table  !  You 
see  I've  the  prettiest  possible  center-piece  of  fruit  and 
flowers.  Isn't  it  lovely  f 


472  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

Of  course  I  kissed  her  and  said  it  was  lovely,  and  that 
she  was  lovelier;  and  she  was  a  regular  little  enchantress, 
witch,  and  fairy-queen,  and  ever  so  much  more  to  the  same 
purport.  And  then  Alice  came  down,  all  equipped  for  con- 
quest, as  pretty  an  additional  ornament  to  the  house  as  heart 
could  desire.  And  when  the  clock  was  011  the  stroke  of  six, 
and  we  heard  the  feet  of  our  guests  at  the  door,  we  lighted 
our  altar-firkin  the  fire-place;  for  it  must  be  understood 
that  this  was  a  pure  coup  de  theatre,  a  brightening,  vivify- 
ing, ornamental  luxury — one  of  the  things  we  were  determ- 
ined to  have,  on  the  strength  of  having  determined  not  to 
have  a  great  many  others.  How  proud  we  were  when  the 
blaze  streamed  up  and  lighted  the  whole  room,  fluttered  on 
the  pictures,  glinted  here  and  there  on  the  gold  bindings  of 
the  books,  made  dreamy  lights  and  deep  shadows,  and 
called  forth  all  the  bright  glowing  color  of  the  crimson  tints 
which  seemed  to  give  out  their  v;ry  heart  to  firelight !  My 
wife  was  evidently  proud  of  the  effect  of  all  things  in  our 
rooms,  which  Jim  declared  looked  warm  enough  to  bring  a 
dead  man  to  life.  Bolton  was  seated  in  due  form  in  a  great, 
deep  arm-chair,  which,  we  informed  him,  we  had  bought 
especially  with  reference  to  him,  and  the  corner  was  to  be 
known  henceforth  as  his  corner. 

"Well,"  said  he,  with  grave  delight,  "  I  have  brought  my 
final  contribution  to  your  establishment ;"  and  forthwith 
from  the  capacious  hinder  pockets  of  his  coat  he  drew  forth 
a  pair  of  kittens,  and  set  them  down  on  the  hearth-rug. 
"  There,  Harry,"  he  said,  gravely,  "  there  are  a  pair  of  ballet 
dancers  that  will  perform  for  you  gratis,  at  any  time." 

"  Oh,  the  little  witches,  the  perfect  loves !"  said  my  wife 
and  Alice,  rushing  at  them. 

Bolton  very  gravely  produced  from  his  pocket  two  long 
strings  with  corks  attached  to  them,  and  hanging  them  to 
the  gas  fixtures,  began,  as  he  said,  to  exhibit  the  ballet 
dancing,  in  which  we  all  became  profoundly  interested. 
The  wonderful  leaps  and  flings  and  other  achievements  of 


THE  HOUSE-WARMING.  4Ta 

the  performers  occupied  the  whole  time  till  dinner  was  an- 
nounced.. 

"  Now,  Harry,"  said  my  wife,  "  if  we  let  Little  Cub  see  the 
kittens,  before  she's  waited  on  table,  it'll  utterly  demoralize 
her.  So  we  must  shut  them  in  carefully,'1  which  was  done. 

I  don't  think  a  dinner  party  was  ever  a  more  brilliant  suc- 
cess than  ours ;  partly  owing  to  the  fact  that  we  were  a  mu- 
tual admiration  society,  and  our  guests  felt  about  as  much 
sense  of  appropriation  and  property  in  it  as  we  did  our- 
selves. The  house  was  in  a  sort  of  measure  "  our  house,"  and 
the  dinner  "  our  dinner."  In  short,  we  were  all  of  us  strictly 
enfamille.  The  world  "was  one  thing,  and  we  were  another, 
outside  of  it  and  by  ourselves,  and  having  a  remarkably 
good  time.  Everybody  got  some  share  of  praise.  Mary  got 
praised  for  her  cooking.  The  cooking-stove  was  glorified 
for  baking  so  well,  and  Bolton  was  glorified  for  recom- 
mending the  cooking-stove.  And  Jim  and  Alice  and  my 
wife  congratulated  each  other  on  the  lovely  looks  of  the 
dining-room.  We  shuddered  together  in  mutual  horror 
over  what  the  wall-paper  there  had  been ;  and  we  felici- 
tated the  artists  that  had  brought  such  brilliant  results  out 
of  so  little.  The  difficulties  that  had  been  overcome  in 
matching  the  paper  and  arranging  the  panels  were  forcibly 
dwelt  upon;  and  some  sly  jokes  seemed  to  pass  between 
Jim  and  Alice,  applicable  to  certain  turns  of  events  in  these 
past  operations.  After  dinner  we  had  most  transcendent 
coffee,  and  returned  to  our  parlor  as  gay  of  heart  as  if  we 
had  been  merry  with  wine.  The  kittens  had  got  thoroughly 
at  home  by  that  time,  having  investigated  the  whole  of  the 
apartment,  and  began  exhibiting  some  of  their  most  irre- 
sistible antics,  with  a  social  success  among  us  of  a  most 
flattering  nature.  Alice  declared  that  she  should  call  tbein 
Taglioni  and  Madame  Celeste,  and  proceeded  to  tie  blue 
and  pink  bows  upon  their  necks,  which  they  scratched  and 
growled  at  in  quite  a  warlike  manner.  A  low  whine  from 
the  entry  interrupted  us;  and  Eva,  opening  the  door  and 
looking  out,  saw  poor  old  Stumpy  sitting  on  the  mat,  wirh 
the  most  good-dog  air  of  dejected  patience. 


474  MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

"Why,  here's  Stumpy,  poor  fellow  !"  she  said. 

"Oh,  don't  trouble  yourself  about  him,"  said  Bolton. 
"  I've  taught  him  to  sit  out  on  the  mat.  He's  happy  enough 
if  he  only  thinks  I'm  inside." 

"  But,  poor  fellow,"  said  Eva,  "  he  looks  as  if  he  wanted 
to  come  in." 

"  Oh,  he'll  do  well  enough;  never  mind  him,"  said  Bolton, 
looking  a  little  embarrassed.  "  It  was  silly  of  me  to  bring 
him,  only  he  is  so  desolate  to  have  me  go  out  without  him." 

"  Well,  he  shall  come  in,"  said  Eva.  "  Come  in,  you  poor 
homely  old  fellow,"  she  said.  "  I  daresay  you're  as  good  as 
an  angel;  and  to-night's  my  house-warming,  and  not  even 
a  dog  shall  have  an  ungratified  desire,  if  I  can  help  it." 

So  poor  Stumpy  was  installed  by  Bolton  in  the  corner, 
and  looked  perfectly  beatified. 

And  now,  while  we  have  brought  all  our  characters  before 
the  curtain,  and  the  tableau  of  the  fireside  is  complete,  as 
we  sit  there  all  around  the  hearth,  each  perfectly  at  home 
with  the  other,  in  heart  and  mind,  and  with  even  the  poor 
beasts  that  connect  us  with  the  lower  world  brightening 
in  our  enjoyment,  this  is  a  good  moment  for  the  curtain 
to  fall  on  the  fortunes  of 

MY  WIFE  AND  I. 

THE  END. 

P.  S. — If  our  kind  readers  still  retain  a  friendly  interest 
in  the  fortunes  of  any  of  the  actors  in  this  story,  they  may 
hear  again  from  us  at  some  future  day,  in  the 

RECORDS  OF  AN  UNFASHIONABLE  STRBET. 


SOME  GOOD  BOOKS 

For  sale    by-   all    Booksellers,  or  mailed,    pre-paid,  to    any 
address,  on  receipt  of  tne  price  by  tlie  Publishers, 

J.  B.  FORD  &  CO., 

No.  27  Park  Place,  New  York. 


Full  Set:    Beecher's  Sermons.     First,  Second,  Third,  and 

Fourth  Series,  uniformly  bound.    Single  volumes,  each  complete,  extra 
cloth,  $2,50 ;  half  morocco,  $5. 
Of  the  first  volume  the  Advance,  of  Chicago,  said . 

"  The  volume  is  a  handsome  one,  and  is  prefaced  with  the  best  portrait  of 
Mr.  Beecher  we  have  overseen.  The  sermons  are  twenty-seven  in  number, 
the  regul-ir  Sunday  morning  and  Thanksgiving  discourses  of  six  months,  and 
are  a  wonderful  testimony,  not  only  to  the  real  goodness  of  heart  of  the 
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thought,  and  rare  ability  which  can  keep  his  regular  ministrations  to  such  a 
height  <'f  average  excellence." 

Each  succeeding  volume  contains  also  six  months'  sermons  (about  450  pp.), 
issued  in  style  uniform  with  the  First  Seri38. 

Lecture- Room  Talks.  A  series  of  Familiar  Discourses,  on 
Themes  of  Christian  Experience.  By  HENRY  WARD  BEECHER.  Phono- 
graphically  reported  by  J.  T.  ELMNWOOD.  }2mo,  extra  cloth.  Price  $2. 

"  J.  B.  Ford  &  Co.,  who  are  now  printers  and  publishers  to  the  Beecher 
family,  have  collected  in  a  handsome  volume  the  Lecture  lioom  Talks  of  the 
Brooklyn  preacher,  held  in  the  weekly  prayer-meeting  of  the  Plymouth 
Church. 

"  There  is  a  great  deal  of  humorous  talk  mingled  with  much  that  is  seri- 
ous ;  and  the  subjects  discussed  are  of  the  most  varied  kind.  It  is  a  charming 
book."— Springfield  [Mass.]  Republican. 

Principles  of  Domestic  Science:  As  Applied  to  the  Duties 
and  Pleasures  of  Home.  By  CATHARINE  E.  BEECHER  and  HARRIET 
BEECHER  STOWE.  A  compact  12mo  volume  of  390  pages;  profusely  illus- 
trated ;  well  printed,  and  bound  in  neat  and  substantial  style.  Price  $2. 

Prepared  with  a  vii>w  to  assist  in  training  young  women  for  the  distinctive 
duties  whkh  inevitably  come  upon  them  in  household  life,  this  volume  has 
been  made  with  especial  reference  to  the  duties,  cares,  and  pleasures  of  the 
family,  as  being  the  place  where,  whatever  the  political  developments  of  the 
future,  woman,  from  her  very  nature  of  body  and  of  spirit,  will  find  her 
most  ngrossinp  occupation,  and  is  full  of  interest  for  all  intelligent  girls 
and  young  women. 

By  The  work  has  been  heartily  indorsed,  and  adopted  by  the  directors  *f 
many  of  the  leading  colleges  and  Seminaries  for  young  women  as  a  text- 
book. 


The  Children's  Week:   SEVEN  STORIES  FOB  SEVEN  DAYS.  By 

B.W.  RAYMOND.  16mo.  Nine  full-page  illustrations  by  H.L.  STKPHK^S 
and  Miss  M.  L.  HALLOCK.  Price,  extra  cloth,  $1.25 ;  cloth,  full  gilt,  §2. 

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simple  that  children  will  welcome  it  with  glee.  Mr.  Raymond's  taies  have 
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its  pure  and  beautiful  sentiment."— BUffalo  IN.  Y.]  Commercial  Advertiser. 

The  Overture  of  Angels.    By  HENRY  WARD  BEECHER.    Illus- 
trated by  HARRY  FENN.    12mo.  tinted  paper,  extra  cloth  gilt.  Price  $2.50. 
This  exquisite  book  is  a  chapter  from  Mr.  BEECHER'S  great  work,  the 
"  Life  of  Jesus  the  Christ."    It  is  a  series  of  pictures,  in  the  author's  happi- 
est style,  of  the  Angelic  Appearances— giving  a  beautiful  and  characteristi- 
cally interesting  treatment  of  all  the  events  recorded  in  the  Gospels,  as 
occurring  about  the  period  of  the  Nativity  of  our  Lord. 

"The  style,  the  sentiment,  and  the  faithfulness  to  the  spirit  of  the 
Biblical  record  with  whi  -h  the  narrative  is  treated,  are  characteristic  of  its 
author,  and  will  commend  it  to  many  readers,  to  whom  its  elegance  of  form 
will  give  it  an  additional  attraction  "—Worcester  (Mass.)  Spy. 

"  A  perfect  fragment.  "-N.  T.  World. 

Christian  Heart-Songs.    A  Collection  of  Choruses,  Quartets, 

and  Set  pieces ;  together  with  a  Selection  of  Anthems,  Motets,  and  Tunes 
of  all  Metres.  By  JOHN  ZTJNDEL,  Author  of  "  Harmony  and  Modula- 
tion," "Voluntaries  for  the  Organ,"  etc.  160  pages.  Boards,  $1;  cloth, 
$1.25. 

"  Mr.  Zundel  is  well  known  as  an  admirable  composer  of  church  music.  A 
pupil  of  the  great  Rink,  he  shows  bis  training  in  the  beautiful  simpli  ity  of 
his  themes  and  the  rich  variety  of  his  harmonies  Mr.  Zuudel  is  Organist  at 
Plymouth  Church,  Brooklyn  (Rev.  H.  W.  Beecher's).''— Troy  IN.  F.]  Times. 


Our  Seven  Churches  :  Eight  Lectures  by  THOMAS  K.  BEECH- 
ER. 16mo.  Paper,  50  cents ;  extr  cloth,  $1 ;  cloth  gilt,  $1.25. 

"  The  eight  lectures  comprised  in  this  volume  are  conceived  in  a  spirit  of 
broad  liberality,  as  refreshing  as  it  is  rare.  They  evince,  in  the  most  gratify- 
ing manner  possible,  how  easy  it  is  to  find  something  good  in  one's  neighbors, 
or  opponents,  or  even  enemies,  if  ore  tries  faithfully  to  do  so,  instead  of 
making  an  effort  to  db  cover  a  fault  or  a  weakness.  The  volume  is  one  which 
should  have,  as  it  undoubtedly  will,  a  wide  circulation."— Detroit  Free  Press. 

Wl  a  tern  i  ty .  A  Popular  Treatise  for  Young  Wives  and  Mothers.  By 
T.  S.  VERDI,  A.M.,  M.D.,  of  Washington,  D.C.  Handsomely  printed  on 
laid  paper,  bevelled  boards,  extra  English  cloth.  12mo.  450  pages.  Price 
$2.25.  TJiird  Edition. 

"The  author  deserves  great  credit  for  his  labor,  and  the  book  merits  an 
extensive  circulation  "—I/.  S.  Medical  and  Surgical  Journal  [Chicago], 

"  There  are  few  intelligent  mothers  who  will  not  be  benefited  by  reading 
an'i  keeping  by  the:n  for  frequent  counsel  a  volume  so  rich  in  valuable  sug- 
gestions. With  its  tables,  prescriptions,  and  indices  at  the  end,  this  book 
ought  to  do  much  good."— Hearth  and  Home. 

'•  We  hail  the  appearance  of  this  work  with  real  pleasure  It  is  dictated 
by  a  pure  and  liberal  spirit,  and  will  be  a  real  bo  jn  to  many  a  young  mother." 
American  Medical  Observer  [Detroit]. 


Mines,  Mills,  and  Furnaces  Of  the  Precious  Metals  of  the 

United  States.  Being  .1  complete  exposition  of  the  Genon!  Methods  em- 
ployed in  the  great  Mining  Industries  of  America,  including  a  review  of 
the  present  condition  and  prospects  of  the  mines  throughout  the  interior 
and  Pacific  States.  By  ROSSITER  W.  RAYMOND.  Ph.D.,  United  States 
Commissioner  of  Mining  Statistics,  Editor  of  the1  Engineering  and  M in  i>  <j 
Journal,"  author  of  "2  he  Mines  of  the  Treat,"  "Mines  and  Mining,"  etc., 
etc.  vol.  8vo.  560  pages.  Illustrated  with  Engravings  of  Machines  and 
Processes.  Extra  cloth  $4.00. 

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on  our  mines  which  co  umanded  universal  approval  by  its  clearness  of 
statement  and  breadth  of  views."— Albany  (N.  Y.)  Araus. 

"  His  scientific  ability,  his  practical  knowledge  of  mines  and  mining,  his 
unerring  Judgment,  and  finally  the  enthusiasm  with  whicn  he  enters  upon 
his  work,  all  combine  to  fit  him  for  his  position:  and  n«ne  could  bring  to  it 
a  greater  degree  of  uprightness  and  fairness."— Denver  (Col )  News. 

The  Trotting  Horse  of  America  :  How  to  Train  and  Drive 

him.   With  Reminiscences  of  the  Trotting  Turf.    Bv  HIRAM  WOODRUFF. 

Edited  by  CHARLES  J .  FOSTER,  of  Wllkes'  Spirit  of  the  Times.    12mo,  412  pp. 

With  steel-plate  portrait  of  Hiram  Woodruff.    Price,  extra  cloth,  $2.25; 

half-calf,  $4. 

The  demand  for  this  book  Is  still  unabated,  for  it  is  the  standard  work  on 
the  American  horse. 

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duct of  forty  years'  experience  in  handling,  training,  riding,  and  driving  the 
Trotting  Horse.  There  is  no  hook  like  it  in  any  language  on  the  subject  of 
which  it  treats.  .  .  .  Before  we  read  It.  we  had  seen  with  curious  surprise 
very  hearty  commendation  of  it  and  eulogy  of  Its  author  in  the  leading 
Presbyterian,  Baptist,  and  Methodist  journals.  No  wonder,  for  Hiram 
Woodruff's  system  is  based  on  the  law  of  love."— N.  T.  Tribune 

ROBERT  BONXER,  who  owns  the  fastest  horses  in  the  world,  says  :  "  It  is 
a  hook  for  which  every  man  who  owns  a  horse  ought  to  subscribe.  The  informa- 
tion which  it  contains  is  worth  ten  times  its  cost." 

History  of  the  State  of  New  York.    From  the  Date  of  the 

Discovery  and  Settlements  on  Manhattan  Island  to  the  Present  Time. 
A  Text-book  for  High  Schools,  Academies,  and  Colleges.  By  S.  S.  RAN- 
DALL, Superintendent  of  Public  Education  in  New  York  City.  12mo  vol., 
396  pages.  Illustrated.  Price  11.75. 

The  author,  for  many  years  intimately  connected  with  the  management 
of  our  Public  Schools,  ha?  written  with  a  full  knowledge  of  what  was  needed, 
and  the 'result  is  a  clear,  compendious,  and  admirable  digest  of  all  the  im- 
portant events  in  tr.e  life  of  New  York,  down  to  the  year  1870. 

"This  work  contains  so  much  valuable  Information  that  it  fhould  be 
found  in  every  house  in  the  State  as  a  volume  of  reference.  Its  value  for 
use  in  educational  institutions  is  of  averyhigii  character."— Northern  Bud- 
get (Troy,  N.  Y.) 

f&~  Officially  adopted  by  the  Boards  of  Education  in  the  cities  of  New 
York  and  Brooklyn  for  use  in  the  Public  Schools,  and  also  extensively  used 
in  private  schools  throughout  the  State. 


IN  PREPARATION. 

H.  W.  Beecher's  Works.    Uniform  Edition.     This  is  a  set  of 

books  long  needed  in  the  trade.  It  will  include  "Norwood,"  "  Lectures 
to  Young  Men,"  "Eyes  and  Ears,"  "Summer  in  the  Soul,''  the  curly 
"  Star  Papers,"  and  other  works,  embracing  some  which  are  now  out  of 
print,  and  for  which  there  is  constant  call. 


4 

A     BRILLIANT     SUCCESS! 
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Rapid    and    Continued    Sales  !  ! 
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AGKENTS  WANTED 

FOR 

THE    LIBRARY 

OF 

POETRY  AND  SONG, 

BEING 

Choice  Selections  from  the  best  Poets, 

ENGLISH,  SCOTCH,  IRISH,  AND  AMERICAN, 

INCLUDING  TRANSLATIONS  from  the  GERMAN,  SPANISH,  etc. 

WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION 

BY  WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT. 

In  one  Superb  Large  Octavo  Volume  of  over  800  pages,  well  printed,  on 

Fine  Paper,  and  Illustrated  with  an  admirable  Portrait  on  Steel 

of  Mr.  Bryant,  together  with  26  Autographic  Foe-Similes 

on  Wood  of  Celebrated  Poets,  besides  other  choice 

Full-page  Engravings,  by  the  best  Artists. 


The  handsomest  and  cheapest  subscription  book  ex  cant.  A 
Library  of  over  5OO  Volumes  in  one  frooTc,  whose  contents,  of 
no  ephemeral  nature  or  interest,  will  never  grow  old  or  stale. 
It  can  be,  and  will  be,  read  and  re-read  with  pleasure  as  long 
as  its  leaves  hold  together. 

This  book  has  been  prepared  with  the  aim  of  gathering  into 
a  single  volume  the  largest  practicable  compilation  of  the  best 
Poems  of  the  English  language,  making  it  as  nearly  as  possible 
the  choicest  and  most  complete  general  collection  of  Poetry 
yet  published. 


Tie  "Library  of  Poetry 


Is  a  volume  destined  to  become  one  of  the  most  popular  books 
ever  printed.  It  is  truly  a  people's  book.  Its  contents  would 
cost  hundreds  of  dollars  in  the  books  whence  they  are  gleaned, 
English  and  American;  and,  indeed,  although  one  possessed 
the  volumes,  the  reading  of  such  vast  numbers  of  pages  would 
be  a  labor  not  readily  undertaken  by  most  people,  even  those 
who  appreciate  poetry. 


The  Xeiv  York  Times* 

A  journal  well  known  the  country  over  for  high  literary  ex- 
cellence and  correct  taste,  says : 

"Tbis  very  handsome  volume  differs  from  all  collections  of  'elegant 
extracts,'  parlor  books,  and  the  like,  which  we  have  seen,  in  being  arranged 
according  to  an  intelligible  and  comprehensive  plan,  in  containing  selections 
which  nearly  cover  the  entire  historical  period  over  which  English  poetry 
extents,  and  in  embracing  matter  suited  to  every  conceivable  taste  and  every 
variety  of  feeling  and  culture.  We  know  of  no  similar  collection  in  the  English 
language  which,  >n  copiousness  and  felicity  of  selection  and  arrangement,  can  at 

all  compare  with  it The  volume  is  a  model  of  typographical 

clearness." 

The  Albany  Evening  Journal, 

One  of  the  oldest  papers  and  highest  literary  standards  in  the 
country,  says : 

"  It  is  undoubtedly  '  the  choicest  and  most  complete  general  collection  of 
poetry  yet  published.'  Is  will  be  deemed  sufficient  proof  of  the  judicious 
character  of  the  sections,  and  of  their  excellence,  that  '  every  poem  has 
taken  its  place  in  the  book  only  after  passing  the  cultured  criticism  of  Mr. 
William  Cullen  Bryant,'  whose  portrait  constitutes  the  fitting  frontispiece  of 
the  volume.  The  work  could  have  no  higher  endorsement.  Mr.  Bryant's 
introduction  to  the  volume  is  a  most  beautiful  and  critical  essay  on  poets 
and  poetry,  from  the  days  of  '  the  father  of  English  poetry  "  to  the  present 

time No  other  selection  we  know  of  is  as  varied  and  complete  as  this: 

and  it  must  find  its  way  into  every  library  and  household  where  poetry  is 
read  and  appreciated." 


This  book,  supplying  a  real  public  need  in  an  admirable  manner,  has  con- 
stantly sold  so  fast  that  the  publishers  have  had  trouble  ...,  keep  up  their 
stock.  It  has  won  an  instant  and  permanent  popularity.  Terms  liberal.  Agents 
all  like  it,  and  buyers  are  more  than  pleased  with  it.  Send  for  Circular  and 
Terms  to 

J.  B.  FORD  &  CO.,  Publishers, 

27  Park  Place,  New  York. 


THE   CHRISTIAN   UNION 

IS    AN    UNSECTARIAN    RELIGIOUS    WEEKLY,     UNDER    THE 
EDITORIAL    MANAGEMENT    OF 

HENRY  WARD   BEECHER. 


This  journal  has  had  a  very  remarkable  success,  in  one  year  attaining 
a  circulation  surpassing  that  of  any  other  religious  weekly  in  the  United 
States  (one  only  excepted,  and  that  one  over  twenty-two  years  old). 

WHY  IS  IT? 

BECAUSE,  First,  HENRY  WARD  BEECHER  is  its  Editor,  and  his 
Editorials,  Star  Papers,  and  occasional  Literary  Reviews  and  Lecture- 
Room  Talks  are  sought  for  by  thousands,  while  the  auxiliary  editorial 
labor  is  in  the  hands  of  cultivated  journalists  ;  the  CONTRIBUTORS 
being  representative  men  of  ALL  Denominations. 

BECAUSE,  Secondly,  ITS  FORM,  sixteen  pages,  large  quarto,  STITCHED 
AND  CUT,  is  so  convenient  for  reading,  binding,  and  preservation,  as  to 
be  a  great  and  special  merit  in  its  favor. 

BECAUSE,  Thirdly,  It  is  called  "  the  Most  Interesting  Religious  Paper  pub- 
lished," being  quoted  from  by  the  press  of  the  entire  country  more  ex- 
tensively than  any  other.  The  critical  Nation  (N.  Y.)  says  it  is  "  Not  only 
the  ablest  and  best,  but  also,  as  we  suppose,  the  most  popular  of  Ameri- 
can religious  periodicals.  At  all  events  it  is  safe  to  predict  that  it  will 
soon  have,  if  it  has  not  already,  greater  influence  than  any  other  religious 
paper  in  the  country." 

BECAUSE,  Fourthly,  It  lias  something  for  every  Member  of  the  Household. 
admirable  contributed  and  editorial  articles,  discussing  all  timely  topics; 
fresh  information  on  unhackneyed  subjects  ;  reliable  news  of  the  Church 
and  the  world  ;  Market  and  Financial  Reports  ;  an  Agricultural  Depart- 
ment; excerpts  of  Public  Opinion  from  the  press;  careful  Book  Re- 
views, with  Educational.  Literary,  Musical,  and  Art  Notes;  much  matter 
of  a  high  and  pure  religious  tone,'  a  Household  Department;  choice 
Poems  ;  Household  Stories  ;  and  Chat  for  the  Little  Ones. 


BECA  USE,  Fifthly,   All  subscribers  are  entitled  to 

TWO    SUPKRB    OIL,    CHROMOS, 
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an  eminent  English  artist.  The  pair,  by  a  fortunate  arrangement  which 
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of  the  pictures  in  Paris,  during  the  late  siege,  are  furnished  to  the  Pub- 
lishers at  a  rate  entirely  exceptional.  So  that,  although  the  selling  price 
of  them  is  ($  I O)  Ten  Dollars,  at  which  price  thousands  have  been  sold  in 
America,  and  still  are  selling  and  will  be  sold  by  the  picture  trade  gener- 
ally, the  Publishers  of  THE  CHRISTIAN  UNION  give  away  the  two  pictures, 
of  course  unmounted,  to  every  subscriber  to  the  paper.  Or,  if  preferred, 
subscribers  will  receive  a  flne  impression  of  Marshall's  Household 'Engrav- 
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